


Watch What Happens

by CM Scott (mwfte)



Series: That's What Happened [1]
Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Angst, Arthur gets what he deserves, Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff, Oral Sex, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, mention of medical procedure, mention of past self-harm, mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 79,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22179541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwfte/pseuds/CM%20Scott
Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Sarah, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Original Female Character(s)
Series: That's What Happened [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713139
Comments: 84
Kudos: 172





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a few things: the beautiful character of Arthur Fleck; Todd Phillips asking (on a podcast) how Arthur’s life might have changed if someone had put a hand on his shoulder; and reviews in which people asked some variation of the following question: “What would a put together woman like Sophie be doing with Arthur?” (That one really gets me - everyone deserves normalcy and happiness.)
> 
> “Watch What Happens” follows the timeline of the movie, with twists on some major events, and added ones.
> 
> It’s been over 10 years since I’ve written prose that wasn’t something technical or a screenplay, so I’m rusty. I popped out the 120 page draft of this story in four weeks, and am working through the second and third drafts. I’m both terrified and excited to share this with all of you!
> 
> If you want to read a Arthur Fleck X Female Reader version, with the OFC's name taken out, you can find it on my Tumblr, [C.M. Scott](https://fleckcmscott.tumblr.com).

Arthur took a long drag off his cigarette as he absorbed his counselor’s last question. The ticking clock on the wall, the fluorescent lights beating down on him, the uncomfortable closeness of the room - none were helping him come up with an answer. What did she want to hear? He seemed to get the same response no matter what he said. “Work is okay. I had a sign-spinning job this week.” 

“Did you enjoy it?” Counselor Kane asked.

The memory of the beating he endured made him anxious. Stress built in his torso. His abdominal muscles twitched as he tensed. He already dreaded the fit he knew was coming. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard to hold back. Laughter tore its way through his throat, piercing his own ears. Reaching across his chest, he attempted to stifle the guffaws. He’d been told before that changing positions was supposed to help. It didn’t seem to this time. 

Eventually, each gale became quieter, transforming into coughing, then a few quiet chokes as he regained a semblance of control. Had he enjoyed being beaten up by a bunch of teenagers and yelled at by passersby? Not really. “It was fine.” 

He watched as she made notes, studying the stacks of papers and files on her desk. He knew he wasn’t giving her a lot to work with this week. But he was exhausted. Starting counseling eight months earlier hadn’t been his idea. After being released from Arkham, he’d been mandated to go to therapy once a week. It was hard to be enthusiastic about it. Most of the time he didn’t think it helped. He was still as isolated, as anonymous as before. The negative thoughts continued.

But he kept trying.

After a few moments of silence, he asked a question of his own. “Is it just me, or is it getting crazier out there?” He met her look for the first time this session. 

A grim expression came across her face as she gave a nod. “It is certainly tense. People are upset. They’re struggling, looking for work. These are tough times.” She continued writing. “How about you? Have you been keeping up with your journal?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered meekly. 

“Great. Did you bring it with you?”

He stiffened, lips puffing at his cigarette. A smile came across his face but didn’t reach his eyes. If he’d thought she wanted to read his journal, he would have left it at home. He’d assumed it would be private.

She didn’t seem impressed. “Arthur, last time I asked you to bring your journal with you for these appointments. Can I see it?”

He squeezed his hands together and ran them over his thighs, trying to convince them to stop bouncing. He was certain she wasn’t going to let this go. Might as well get this over with. A slight chuckle escaped him as he turned to reach into his jacket pocket. 

“I’ve been using it as a - as a journal. But also a joke diary?” Reluctantly, he handed the folded, spiral notebook over. “Funny thoughts or observations.” He looked down, then, knowing what she’d find in there. “I think I told you I’m pursuing a career in stand-up comedy.”

She flipped through the tattered pages. “No you didn’t,” she said.

He paused. She didn’t remember that? “I think I did.” He noticed she hadn’t flinched once. Maybe the pornography he had pasted in there wasn’t so bad. 

Kane stopped and glanced at him before reading aloud. “’I just hope my death makes more sense than my life.’”

An eyebrow raised as he huffed, a corner of his mouth lifting. She’d wanted him to write how he felt, right? That about summed it up. 

She seemed concerned, but merely closed the journal and gave it back to him. “How does it feel to have to come here? Does it help to have someone to talk to?”

Arthur furrowed his brow as he exhaled another cloud of smoke. “I think I felt better when I was locked up in the hospital,” he said.

“And have you thought more about why you were locked up?”

He did his best to recall, though his memory of that time was fragmented. White walls, a straitjacket, no shoelaces. He remembered a window in the door of the observation room and ramming his head into it. “Who knows…” he sighed. He watched as Kane started packing up his file. “I was wondering if you could ask the doctor to increase my medication.”

She took out a list and read it over. “Arthur, you’re on seven different medications.” She raised her shoulders slightly. “Surely they must be doing something.

His eyes softened, letting down his guard for a moment. “I just don’t want to feel so bad anymore.”

~~~~~

Arthur stood in line at the pharmacy, hand playing with the keys in his pocket. He browsed the nearby stand with office supplies. More pens would be good - he tended to go through ink quickly with all the scribbles in his journal - but he doubted he had enough change for both them and his co-pays. They’d have to be picked up later. 

Once he was up, he stepped to the laminate counter. “Hi, my name’s Arthur Fleck. I have three prescriptions to pick-up?” He handed his Gothamcare card to the pharmacist, who gave it a glance. The medications were $2.50 each. After paying, he said a quick “Thank you.” The pharmacist turned his attention to the next person.

Arthur exited the pharmacy, starting the fifteen minute trek home. As he walked, he thought about what he would do that evening. His back was still sore from the kicks it’d received after being jumped. A hot shower would help soothe the aches, but he wasn’t sure when he could fit it in. 

He was already arriving home later than usual because of work. The oven would have to be preheated, as he could prepare his mother’s nightly TV dinner. Watching “Live with Murray Franklin” was a must. And he wanted to work on his comedy routine. He knew he was getting close to having a really good set. The shower could wait until morning.

He trudged up the concrete stairs near his building. Every step became heavier as he ascended. _Why should you be wary of stairs? They’re always up to something!_ When a new joke came to him like that, he always felt a little better. He’d have to repeat it to himself until he had a chance to write it down. 

After entering his apartment complex, he shuffled to the mail room and checked the box labeled “P. Fleck.” It was as empty as the run-down lobby he stood in. He went into the rickety elevator and repeatedly pressed the button for the eighth floor. 

As soon as he entered the one-bedroom apartment, his mother called to him. “Happy, did you check the mail before you came up?” 

Wincing, he took off his jacket and hung it on the hook. “Yeah, mom. Nothing.” He entered the dimly illuminated galley kitchen and went to the freezer. The meal he grabbed was the first one he saw, and he started the oven. While it pre-heated, he examined his new prescription bottles. He popped one open and took a tablet. Then he finally got a chance to write down the joke he’d come up with.

When the meal was done he took it into his mother’s, Penny’s, softly lit bedroom. He’d made it nice and neat for her, on a tray with cutlery and a napkin. She was sitting up in the double-bed against the headboard, waiting. He set the tray down over her legs and carefully cut the meatloaf for her.

She watched his movements. “He must not be getting my letters,” she said.

 _This again._ She’d been going on and on about the Waynes for years. Annoyingly, her fixation had become more intense over the past few months. “It’s Thomas Wayne, mom. He’s a busy man.”

Penny shook her head dismissively. “Please. I worked for that family for years. The least he could do is write back.”

Arthur pursed his lips and gave a curt nod. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss this tonight. “Here. Don’t get all worked up. Eat.” Before sitting on the chair next to the vanity, he handed her the fork and patted her cheek. “You need to eat,” he said.

He could see his mother pointing at him with her fork out of the corner of his eye. “You need to eat. Look at how skinny you are,” she said. He ignored her concern, smoothing his brown, mid-length hair back and releasing a breath. 

When he turned to her, she appeared content. “He’ll make a great mayor,” she said confidently. “Everybody says so.”

He studied her before answering. “Oh yeah?” he said, his voice adopting a playful tone. “Everybody who? _Who_ do you talk to?”

She motioned towards the TV. “Well, everybody on the news.” Her voice became adamant. “He’s the only one who can save this city. He owes it to us.”

Arthur looked at the floor, raising his eyebrows.

At the sound of a certain familiar theme emanating from the television, Penny patted the side of the bed. “Come sit. It’s starting.” 

He smiled. “Yay, Murray.” Reaching behind him, he turned off the table lamp. He hurried to his usual spot, the left side of the bed, and took off his shoes. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, quickly becoming lost in the show. He’d been watching “Live! With Murray Franklin” for as long as he could remember. The colors of the curtain, every note the band played, the beats between Murray’s jokes - he knew it all. 

The excited energy of the audience surrounded him. His lungs were filled with the studio air conditioning. It took all his strength not to jump with excitement as his idol entered the stage. He tried to settle for a standing ovation - it didn’t work. He couldn’t stop himself from shouting, “I love you, Murray!” 

The house lights went up and Murray squinted into the crowd. Arthur looked around before realizing Murray was talking directly to _him_. He’d picked _him_ out of the crowd. The spotlight was on him in a flash. Arthur introduced himself, stammering when he said he lived with his mother. When the audience laughed at him, Murray came to his defense. Of course he had - he knew what it was like to struggle. 

At first, when Murray called him down to join him on stage, Arthur resisted. But as the audience demand grew stronger, he had no choice but to relent. A wide smile crossed his face as he descended the stairs to stand shoulder to shoulder with Murray. Murray’s hand was warm when he took Arthur’s and lifted his arm in a cheer. 

“That was great, Arthur! I loved hearing what you had to say. You made my day.” Murray told him.

Arthur’s voice was quiet when he answered in disbelief. “Thanks, Murray.”

Murray gestured with his arm towards the studio. “You see all this? The lights, the show, the audience, all that stuff.” He held Arthur square in his gaze, hand on his shoulder. “I’d give it all up in a heartbeat to have a kid like you.” 

A lump formed in Arthur’s throat. He couldn’t speak. Murray understood in an instant and pulled him in for a hug. Relief washed over Arthur as he relaxed into the embrace.

The warmth Arthur felt went away, and he found himself back in his shabby apartment. He looked over his shoulder to his mother, who was spooning mashed potatoes into her mouth. As much as he loved Penny, as much as he enjoyed watching Murray with her, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was all his life was going to be. When he thought of the likely answer, he closed his eyes, feeling emptier than ever.


	2. Chapter 2

“Shit,” Sarah said. Her furious typing came to a standstill. “Patricia, do you have the wite-out?” 

Patricia arched her brow at her from behind her own typewriter. “Did you hit the ‘v’ instead of the ‘w’ again?”

Sarah caught the tiny bottle her colleague tossed her. “Why can’t this guy have an easier last name? At least one that’s phonetic?” The feed roller clicked as she turned the typewriter’s carriage knob. Carefully, she extricated the paper without damaging it. “I can’t start anything with ‘Kowlinska,’” she said, carefully fixing her typo with the white liquid.

“I think it starts with a ‘K’,” Patricia retorted.

“Ha-ha,” Sarah deadpanned. 

God, she needed break. She’d been working non-stop for three hours. Stretching, she stood and walked across the medium-sized room to look out the window. The streets were full. With a population of ten million, there was always plenty of hustle and bustle. The vendor on the corner was offering pretzels to anyone who came near him. A little girl ran down the sidewalk excitedly, screeching and dodging trash bags all the way. Sarah smiled, thankful she was now in Gotham. The grime of the city, the variety of people - she wouldn’t trade it for anything. It was miles away from the small town she had wasted almost forty years in. 

The sun was already on the horizon, ending the day too early for her taste. She still had a lot of work to do. A status conference on a jeopardy order for three children was tomorrow morning - that file needed to be prepared. The motion she kept mistyping needed to be completed. The shredding needed to be done. She enjoyed being busy, but this week had been more demanding than most. It would be another long night.

“Sarah? I’m getting some coffee. Want some?” Patricia asked.

Sarah turned to her and smirked. “If I drink it now, I’ll never get to sleep tonight, and then you’ll have to deal with me in the morning.” She shook her head and made her way back to her desk. “No thanks. I like you too much for that.”

“Sweet talker!” Patricia called as she walked off.

Sarah leaned back in her cloth chair, eyes roving over the woodwork of the ceiling. When she’d first started at Shaw & Associates, she’d found the intricate office decor intimidating. Fortunately, she’d grown up comfortably, and had been so most of her adult life. But she hadn’t been exposed to such opulence. Now, after a little over a year, she’d gotten used to it. And she was proud to be part of one of Gotham’s most prominent law firms.

Matt Stone, the attorney she worked with most closely, stuck his head out of his office. He was frazzled. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

She swiveled to face him fully and crossed her arms. “Do you have another present for me?”

“I do.” He approached and handed her an expanded pendaflex. It took both hands for her to hold it. “The Wayne Foundation case-”

Sarah’s eyes darted to his, corners of her lips turning up. “You’re letting me work on a Wayne case?”

“Which one?” Patricia interjected as she returned. She blew on the hot coffee she held.

“The case about the abandoned tenements in the borrows? The ones the Wayne Foundation wants to claim?” Matt nodded at the file, hands in his pockets. “The defendant filed a motion to stop it. Again.”

Sarah’s face scrunched up as she opened the file. “That’s odd.” Her fingers leafed through the stack of papers. “Didn’t you say before that they’re falling down? You’d think they’d want to be rid of them before someone gets hurt.”

“Maybe they want to keep the land as investment property. Then try to sell it off later.” He shrugged at her. “Look it over tomorrow. We’ll talk about it in detail next week.” At that, he spun to go back to his office.

Groaning, Sarah wheeled over to watch him as he took a seat behind his large, wooden desk. “That’ll be the third late night this week,” she said.

Matt waved her concern off. “Do you have something better to do?”

She rolled her eyes and scooted back to her work area. “Not being in the office is good enough.” While she didn’t have any plans, she didn’t want him to think she was endlessly available. 

He offered an olive branch. “Well, I’ll owe you one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sarah said over her shoulder. “I’ll remind you at Christmas.” She caught Patricia’s eye, then. “I can’t decide if he likes me or hates me.”

Patricia chuckled. “Both. Definitely. Give me the Kowlinska paperwork. Unlike you, I know how to type.”

Sarah snickered as she passed it to her. “Thanks. I’ll finish tomorrow’s conference file.”

~~~~~

It was past seven she left the office. Though Matt had told her to start working on the Wayne file tomorrow, she’d wanted to take a crack at it. Given the size of it, she thought she might sneak it home to peruse over the weekend. 

She was happy to be entrusted with a case from the firm’s most prestigious client. And after working there for a relatively short time. It’s not that she was a fan of the Wayne family - they just happened to be wealthy. But it would be nice to work on cases besides the pro-bono family and child protection matters. She was good at those and was able to process them quickly, but reading reports of domestic abuse was wearing. This change would be good.

The small grocery store was fairly deserted when she entered it. She was relieved, not wanting to take too long. A bottle of wine, a bag of chips, and a frozen dinner for tomorrow would do. As she picked up each item, weaving through the disparate aisles, she smirked at herself. Was it pathetic that she was pleased with her basket of alcohol and garbage? Maybe. But she was fine with that.

Sarah sauntered down the frozen food section, scanning the bright TV dinner boxes. The regulars, macaroni and cheese, Salisbury steak, lasagna, were ones she’d already tried. She stopped when a new one caught her eye: Polynesian Style Dinner. Nothing like fried meat chunks in an unnaturally orange sauce. She’d try that one and pretend she was adventurous.

The only thing preventing her from grabbing it and heading to the check-out was the man standing in front of the freezer door.

She watched him. He hadn’t seemed to notice her approach or sense she was a couple feet behind him. She took the opportunity to inspect him. Well worn brown shoes, dark blue slacks a tad loose on him. The basket in his hand had marked-down pens, bread, and a bottle of seltzer. Continuing upward, she could see his tan jacket was well-loved, soft and clean. His longish, slightly dark brown hair had a slight curl to it, and it looked freshly shampooed. Even though she was in heels, he was a couple of inches taller than her.

After waiting to see if the man would realize she was there, she gently cleared her throat. “It’s hard to decide when there are so many choices, isn’t it?”

He slowly moved to look at her. She thought he hadn’t heard her clearly at first, but the corner of his mouth lifted. 

She spoke again, starting to grin. “I think I’ve had every one of these. Want me to warn you off a few?”

A soft huff escaped him. She noticed his free hand join his other on the basket handle, squeezing tight. “No. I get these all the time,” he said quietly.

Sarah gave a short nod, then pointed at the door of the freezer. “Would you mind if I grabbed one?”

It took only a moment for him to open the door and hold it for her. He leaned against it lightly, some panache in his movement. The slight smile hadn’t left his face.

She let out a faint laugh and stepped forward to reach past him, and grab the dinner. “Thanks,” she said as she turned to look up at him. 

His wide cheekbones and sharp jawline gave her pause. He looked a bit weary, maybe a couple years older than her. The clear, light green of his deep set eyes surprised her, a contrast from his dark, prominent brow. Those eyes were narrowing as she continued to stare at him. 

“Sorry,” she said, blushing and averting her gaze. He’d caught her checking him out, and she felt bad for obviously making him feel self-conscious. “I didn’t mean to gawk at you. It’s been a long day and I’m a little dazed.”

He reached into the freezer and grabbed the same frozen meal. “It’s fine.” She thought she heard him chuckle.

She started towards the check-out, looking back over her shoulder. The man was headed the same way, but kept a respectable distance. As she placed her few items on the belt, she noticed him get in line behind her. He held his hands in front of him, head bent downward as he waited. Sarah paid quickly, giving him a small wave as she walked off. “Night.”

“Good night,” he answered.

Once Sarah was back home, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her answering machine was blinking. She played the messages and took her shoes off. They were mostly mundane: confirmation of a dentist appointment, her sister just calling to say hello and catch up. She was in the middle of opening the wine when the last message played.

“Sarah, this is Matt from the office.” He must be working at home, she thought. “Sorry I didn’t catch you before you left. You’ll need to come to the hearing with me tomorrow. I’m this is last minute, but you know the file well and it’ll make the process easier. Sorry to cancel casual Friday.” 

She finished opening the wine and poured herself a double. “Now you owe me two favors,” she said to herself. Taking a long drink, she walked to the television, turned it on, and planted herself on the sofa.

The news was on. “Thomas Wayne has formed an exploratory committee to to test the waters for a potential run for mayor,” the reported intoned. “We caught up with Mr. Wayne outside of town hall.”

The picture cut to Thomas Wayne: well-dressed as always, slicked back hair. His wife and son were with him. “I’m the only one who can help Gotham. That’s why I’m considering a run for office.” He brought his hands up to his chest, gesturing for emphasis. “To help the people of this city. To give back some of the blessings I’ve been given.” 

Sarah rolled her eyes. Even though she was only now starting to work on a Wayne file, she’d heard some of the legal maneuvers the foundation had taken. Yes, there were good intentions behind nearly all of them. But only a small fraction of those plans seemed to come to fruition. With that knowledge, she thought it was arrogant for him to assume he was Gotham’s white knight.

Deciding it was too late to think about politics, she let her mind drift to the guy at the store. She hadn’t expected him to be so handsome. He’d barely talked with her, as though he didn’t realize how good looking he was. And the way he opened the door with some flourish… For someone who came across as rather awkward, he certainly appeared to have some grace. The juxtaposition was charming. 

Taking another sip of wine, she chastised herself. He’d probably thought she was a desperate creep, staring at him the way she did. She was neither. She wasn’t even looking. But it had been a long time since she’d seen someone who’d piqued her interest at all. 

The news broadcast ended and she flipped to Tonight with David Endochrine. Finally, brainless entertainment. She grabbed the folded blanket from the back of the sofa and snuggled down into the couch. She finished the wine and was soon snoozing, still dressed for work.


	3. Chapter 3

Impromptu conversations with Hoyt were rarely pleasant. There seemed to be a new gripe whenever Arthur learned his boss wanted to speak with him. He’d been late to a party because the train had broken down. The balloon animals he was learning to make deflated too quickly. His laughter popped up at the wrong times. 

Today’s meeting had been no different. As soon as he walked into Hoyt’s cramped office, he knew he’d be scolded. He understood Kenny’s Music was upset that he’d disappeared. What he hadn’t expected was Hoyt’s complete dismissal of his side of the story. Yes, it was a stupid decision to go after the kids who were giving him shit. The bruises covering him were enough to prove that. But why would he go out of his way to steal a sign?

Arthur had been careful to smile painfully the entire time, the way Penny had taught him. With all the effort it took to maintain his composure, he’d barely heard Hoyt threaten to take the cost of the broken placard out of his pay. He felt a pang in his gut. Less money would mean missed meals. At least he could handle that better than his mother, since he rarely ate anyway.

Hoyt told him his co-workers were uncomfortable around him. That they thought he was weird. That wasn’t news to Arthur - though he didn’t always get their intentions, he wasn’t an idiot. He hadn’t missed the lack of inclusion in the card games the others played on their downtime, or how quiet they were around him.

And he made everyone uncomfortable. Except maybe Gary, the little person he worked with. Gary was the only acquaintance who appeared to give a shit about him, even a little. And he went out of his way to check-in with Arthur when a day had been particularly trying. Arthur would have to remember to try to return that favor.

Usually, his anger didn’t eclipse his general malaise. When it did, he tried to push it down like he had learned. He couldn’t do that today. After the meeting with Hoyt, he’d gone into the back alley and punted the garbage until he fell.

It had been too much. He put more than forty hours a week into being a clown. He loved his job and was good at it. There was a reason he was on the rotation list for the children’s hospital. Just once, it would be nice to hear he had done well instead of being berated. 

He tried to remind himself he was lucky to have a steady income.

Now Arthur was in the empty locker room at HaHa’s, cleaning crud off his shoes from the garbage bags he’d broken open. His knee was sore from the kicking. When he got home, he’d have to put ice on it. He took in a long breath, sitting on the bench in front of the row of blue lockers. Sometimes he thought it would be easier to simply drift away.

“You okay?”

Arthur hadn’t heard Randall approach. He slumped a little, expecting another smart remark from the giant know-it-all.

Randall continued. “I heard about the beat-down you took. Fucking savages.”

The aggravation in his voice wasn’t what Arthur had expected. Arthur shook his head. “It was just a bunch of kids. I should have left it alone.”

“No, they’ll take everything from you if you do that. All that crazy shit out there? They’re animals,” Randall stated.

Arthur stood and grabbed his jacket from his locker, not wanting to continue. He’d been on his feet all day, which hadn’t helped his healing back. All he wanted was to go home and try to relax.

Randall shoved a paper bag at him, taking him aback. “Here.”

Arthur glanced at it. “What is it?”

“Take it.”

Half expecting a trick, Arthur wiped his nose, took the bag and gingerly opened it. The light from overhead reflected off a .38 snub-nosed handgun and six bullets. Giggling nervously, he closed the bag and tried to hand it back. He looked around, making sure no one else had entered the room. “Randall,” he whispered. “I’m not supposed to have a gun.”

Randall smiled at him. “Don’t sweat it, Art. No one has to know. And you can pay me back some other time. You know you’re my boy.”

Arthur wasn’t sure how to take that. Had all the self-doubt he’d felt moments ago been wrong? Randall giving him a gift a gun to protect himself - did this mean he was finally “one of the guys?” It made him nervous. And a little proud. He shoved the paper bag in his pocket and shook his head lightly, laughing. “I’ve - I’ve got to go. My mother’s waiting.”

~~~~~

Arthur's evening went similarly to every other. He made dinner for Penny and took a quick shower, then ran a bath for his mother. After testing the temperature with the back of his hand, he went into the living room with a towel. "It's time for your bath, mom." Penny didn't have much of a reaction, a soft smile and a nod. He draped the towel over his shoulder and, putting an arm around her back, the other under her armpit, gently lifted her out of the easy chair. She shuffled along as he guided her to the bathroom.

Penny dropped her robe to the floor, seemingly half paying attention to what she was doing. He picked it up, folded it, and placed it on the closed toilet lid. Once he had helped her out of the rest of her clothing, he threw it in the hamper. He took her hand as she stepped into the tub. "Be careful. Don't slip," he said, helping her get into the water. When she was situated, he dragged a stool over, sat, then grabbed a washcloth and soap to scrub her back.

Arthur was used to taking care of Penny, but this level of helplessness still felt new. He'd had to start helping her bathe about six months ago, when she'd had a fall getting out of the tub. The panic he'd felt when he'd found her on the floor still weighed heavily in his stomach when he thought about it. He'd been grateful she hadn't broken anything. And when she’d first said, "Happy, I need your help in the bathroom," he'd been glad to assist her. Truthfully, it felt good to be needed.

She stared vacantly at the wall as he washed her arms. "I wonder why there was no mail today."

"That means no bills, mom." He handed her the washcloth and soap. "Wash your chest and down below." Turning away from her, he listened to the water splash behind him. He hummed gently with the radio as he waited for her to finish. 

She continued after the soft sloshing stopped. "Maybe the mailman is stealing my letters."

He swiveled back around and grabbed the nearby plastic cup. Carefully, he tipped her head back and started washing her hair. 

Penny closed her eyes. "Maybe we'll hear from him soon."

He couldn't bite his tongue any longer. "Mom, why are these letters so important to you? What do you think he's gonna do?"

"He's gonna help us," she pronounced.

Bewildered, he shook his head. "You worked for him, what? Thirty years ago?" A sigh escaped him. "Why would he help us?"

She turned and looked him straight in the face, answering without hesitation. "Because Thomas Wayne is a good man. If he knew how we were living... If he could see this place, it would make him sick." She lowered her head. "I can't explain it to you any better than that."

Arthur pursed his lips. It wasn't worth the argument; he wouldn't win it anyway. He closed his eyes. He did his best to provide, but he knew it wasn’t enough. Maybe if she hadn’t had a son who was such a mess, she’d be in a better position. He started thinking about the sign he had to pay for, hoping he could pick up an extra gig to make up the difference. "I don't want you worrying about money, mom," he said soothingly. "Or me." A flicker of excitement went through him at what he was going to say next. "Everyone's been telling me my stand-up's ready for the big clubs."

Blinking at him, she said, "But, Happy, what makes you think you can do that?"

"What do you mean?"

Penny looked at him in consternation. "Don't you have to be funny to be a comedian?"

~~~~~

The journal lay open on the coffee table in front of Arthur. Sitting on the old, scratchy sofa in his blue pants, smoking cigarette after cigarette down to the filter, he thought about what he should write. It felt like homework tonight. The jokes weren't coming. 

Usually he could ignore Penny's remarks. Tonight's comment from her had wounded him, though. She didn't think he could pursue his purpose of spreading joy and laughter? A purpose she'd told him he had all his life? He knew his timing was off, that he didn't get punchlines in the same way others did. He was acutely aware of that he had misunderstandings he couldn’t seem to fix. But he wouldn't stop practicing and trying to improve. He'd make her proud of him one day. He'd show her.

He wasn't going to journal about the bullet hole he'd accidentally fired into the wall, which he was going to have to figure out how to patch. If Counselor Kane caught wind of it, he'd be in serious trouble. The gun had been heavier than he'd imagined. His hands had trembled when he held it. It felt forbidden. And dangerous. 

Why hadn't Randall told him it was loaded? He could have killed himself. Maybe that's what Randall wanted.

The new pack of pens caught his eye, and his thoughts went to the woman at the store. When she'd first spoken to him, he'd been preparing himself for a snide comment. One never came. She'd been unexpectedly kind and polite. 

Her stare had been disconcerting until she apologized for it. A short chuckle escaped him as he remembered her blush. Women never did that around him. Even though he wasn't like the men in check-out stand magazines or movies, he wondered if she'd found him attractive. She was so pretty, too pretty for him. 

The bravery he'd managed to wrangle to open the door for her surprised him. He wanted to keep it. Standing behind her in line, he thought he'd been able to catch a whiff of the sweet fragrance of her shampoo. Or maybe he’d dreamed it. Either way, he associated it with her. He wished he had worn cologne - she might have liked it.

He picked up a pen and started writing in his messy scrawl, a soft smile on his face. "I met a nice woman at the store yesterday. I don't know why she was nice to me but I'm glad she was. If I meet her again I need to say hi."


	4. Chapter 4

It was Saturday. Sarah was supposed to have the day off, but she'd spent her Friday night reading parts of the Wayne file. It had been engrossing. From what she'd gathered, the foundation wanted to convert the rent-controlled housing buildings into a medical clinic. The buildings in question had all but been abandoned, the motions claimed, and were in serious disrepair. 

The current owner's response had been lackluster - a counter-motion stating both the addresses in question were up to code and actively being used. But they had neglected to provide more than a couple leases or rental agreements. She wasn't surprised. The motions were dating back two years. She could imagine the current owner, a family that had had possession of the buildings since the late 1800s, was running out of funds. Their most recent filings were done without a lawyer.

The addresses were about two miles uptown from her apartment. Seeing at least one of them would give her a chance to determine what the actual situation was. And it gave her a good excuse for a brisk walk. She checked the clock as she finished her coffee: 7:13 AM. Good. She hoped it was early enough to visit one of the buildings and look it over without being noticed. She slipped on a thick coat, grabbed her purse and an umbrella, and headed outside.

Gotham was dreary this morning, an unpredictable drizzle. She still wasn't use to the city's typical Eastern rain. At least it wasn't snowing yet - Patricia had told her winter seemed to come earlier every year. This was the one season she missed being further South. The autumn lasted for weeks back home; she'd still be wearing a light jacket.

She eyed the architecture as she walked. It became less decorative the further she went. Gone were the porticoes and fancy facades of the wealthier parts of the city, replaced by simple brick and concrete. There was a brutality in how quick the change was, as if the builders thought people in cheaper apartments couldn't enjoy aesthetics. Parks and artwork grew rarer, too, until the area was almost totally devoid of public spaces. 

Letting out a breath, she approached one of the apartment complexes. The four story building was uncharacteristically stout for Gotham. A tenement covered in graffiti. Walking around it, she lightly inspected the foundation for faults that would be obvious to her layman's eyes. There were no cracks, no chunks appeared to be missing. 

The front door was ajar, held open with a triangular piece of wood. She gingerly pushed it open, trying not to make any noise, and let herself in. The entrance was in some disrepair. Dark green paint peeled in the corners of the lobby, the laminate floor was coming up in some places. The florescent lights were on, though, and the floor was shining. Whoever lived there cared enough to clean the place. 

The stairs were solid when she stepped on them, the railing a bit wobbly but sturdy enough to put her weight on it. As she reached the second floor, she wondered where the Wayne Foundation had gotten the idea that this building was abandoned. She walked down the hall, noticing every name plate and personal touch - a postcard of a sunny place here, a wreath there - on the doors.

"Hey, who are you?"

Sarah stopped and turned to the direction the voice had come from. An elderly woman stood there, newspaper in one hand, pink robe being held closed by the other. She looked displeased. 

_Fuck._ Sarah cursed herself, both for being too bold and being too stupid to think about being seen by a tenant. She gave the woman a friendly smile and approached her. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, ma'am. My name is Sarah. I just wanted to see-"

The woman's face softened. "Oh, you're not from Renew Corp.?"

Sarah furrowed her brow in confusion. "Renew Corp.?"

"Yeah. They keep harassing us. You hold on a minute." The woman disappeared for a moment, closing the door.

Sarah sighed and leaned against the wall. She didn't want to stumble onto anything crazy; she just needed to gather evidence to support the Wayne Foundation's position. She wanted to do her job and do it well. Rubbing her face, she could already feel a headache coming on. The first Wayne case she was entrusted with, and she was already finding leads she didn't want to. 

God dammit. She knew she wouldn't be able to let this go.

As soon as the woman returned, Sarah straightened up. "Here you are," the woman said, handing her the letter. "They keep sending them in these red envelopes. As if that could scare me. I lived through the war." She laughed to herself.

Sarah couldn't help but smile back as she read the addressee's name. After opening the envelope, she scanned the letter. "Ms. McPhee, may I keep this?"

"Go ahead. I'll get another one in a few days," Ms. McPhee answered.

Sarah tucked the letter in her purse. "Thank you."

Ms. McPhee nodded. "Sorry about earlier. We don't get many visitors here." She gestured behind here with her thumb. "Do you want to come in for a cup of tea? I have a cat. You're not allergic, are you?"

Sarah took a step back, placing a hand over her chest. "I'd love to but I have to get going. Would it be alright if I dropped by sometime? Asked a few more questions?" There was a pause. At Ms. McPhee's expression, Sarah added, "Bring some tea biscuits along?"

That got her.

~~~~~

On the way back to her apartment, while still in Otisburg, Sarah decided to treat herself to breakfast. A couple of diners lined the streets, but food from a greasy spoon wasn't what she was looking for. A bakery would work; she could get something light and sweet. A donut shop caught her eye. And her nose. She peeked in through the old, warped windows. Lackluster lighting, just enough film on the glass to make her question the place's health inspection certificate. She'd found her joint.

The row of people waiting against the wall surprised her when she went inside. After a few moments deliberation, she decided to stay, not having concrete plans for the rest of the day. Copies of the Gotham Gazette were piled high, not yet in their display case. Shuffling along as the line moved forward, she grabbed a paper and started reading the headlines: "Thomas Wayne - Will he or won't he?;" "A New Day for Gotham;" "New Budget Cuts Risk Safety." God, news like this made her wish she gave less of a shit. She closed the paper and looked up towards the entrance, the bell above the door ringing endlessly as more people poured in.

And there he stood. Good hair, Tan jacket. He was leaning against the wall, seven people down from her. She noticed he was wearing a brown cardigan and button-up shirt. His hair was a little damp, probably from the weather. It didn’t affect his good looks in the slightest. 

She hadn’t expected his eyes to dart to hers so quickly.

Heat rose to her cheeks. _Dammit,_ she scolded herself. _You're staring at him again. Leave the man alone, you idiot._ She tried to focus on the menu hanging overhead. 

That focus failed utterly when she saw him sidle up beside her in her peripheral vision. He stopped about two feet away. As it had at the store, it took him a few moments to speak. "Hi," he said.

"Hey," she replied, eyes still averted. "Fancy seeing you again."

"Yeah." He looked up at the menu, too, but she wasn't convinced he was reading it.

She allowed herself a glance at his profile, long enough to realize it was a mistake if she wanted to stop ogling him. She was close enough to see the hint of laugh lines at the corner of his eye, the rounded tip of his nose, _that damned jawline_. She swallowed and looked down. His hand was worrying his pocket. The tension with which he held himself was obvious. It was hard to figure out if his hesitancy was peculiar or adorable. She decided it was both. "How was your TV dinner?" she asked.

"Fine. They're always the same. Yours?" His deep voice was slightly raspy when he answered. 

She gave a small shrug. "It didn't kill me."

The man chuckled at that and flicked his eyes to her for a moment. "Good." The line moved forward and he stepped with her. "You should get the-"

"Hey, buddy," a voice from the back bellowed. "You can't just cut in line."

The effect on Good hair, Tan jacket was immediate. He stiffened even further, cheeks turning pink, his jaw clenching. He briefly brought his hand to his mouth and winced. As he spoke, softly but loud enough for the asshole in the back to hear, his eyelids fluttered shut. "I wasn't cutting. I just wanted to say hello." 

The fact that he responded surprised her. She liked it. When he started to turn towards the end of the line, she stepped closer to him. "What do you want? I'm next in line.” When he didn’t answer, she said, “I’ll grab it. It’s no big deal.”

He blinked at her before digging into his pocket and handing her change. "Cinnamon sugar. I was going to suggest you get it. It's the best one."

Smiling, she nodded. "Thanks for the recommendation. It's my first time here." She extended her hand to him. "I'm Sarah Thompson, by the way."

He looked at her hand before grasping it gently with his. "My name's Arthur. Arthur Fleck." The smoothness of his palm was warm on hers, the fingertips of his long fingers resting against the back of her hand. "I'll wait outside." With that, he released her and left.

After getting their order, she left the shop to find the morning's drizzle had turned to a steady rain. Arthur was standing under the shop's awning, smoking. She thought she'd detected the scent of nicotine. And maybe some cologne. "Here. You got the last cinnamon sugar." She started to hand him the donut.

He shook his head. "I'll take the other." 

"I hope you like chocolate." Sarah gave him the small wax paper bag. "Can you tell me where the nearest subway is? I need to head home." 

"Newkirk Plaza." His brows knit together and he looked down as he took a long drag off his cigarette. "I could walk you there?" 

She noticed he'd said it quickly, as if he didn't want to lose courage. She took the umbrella from inside her coat and opened it, then stuck her arm out so he'd have room to share it. "Sure. That'd be great."

"Yeah?" He laughed softly, surprise on his face. "Okay." Cautiously, but with some eagerness, he stepped under her umbrella. He seemed to hold his breath as they started walking in the direction of the train station. 

They strolled in companionable silence. As each block ended and another began, she found herself wishing he would talk. He'd invited her on the walk, after all. Maybe she could bring him out. "Have you in lived in Gotham long?"

He flicked his cigarette on the ground and let out a small huff. "All my life."

"You're a real Gothamite, then. I'm a transplant. Moved here about a year and half ago."

"Oh yeah? Where from?"

"Boonville, Missouri." Waving her hand dismissively, she continued. "Trust me. You've never heard of it."

He looked at her, studying her face for a moment. "You don't have an accent," he said. 

Sarah rolled her eyes. "That's intentional." She adjusted the umbrella in her hand. "I made sure to lose it as a kid. When I eventually moved away, I didn't want to be out of place. It's nice to be anonymous."

Arthur took out another smoke and placed it between his lips. "But why come here? It's so cold. People are mean. The garbage strikes..." He lit his cigarette. "It's rough."

"Believe me. Small towns have their own problems. They're just not as visible. And everyone knows each other. God, it's disgusting." She laughed, then. "No, I really love it here. Best decision I've ever made."

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth rising. "Hm." 

When the sign for Newkirk Plaza was in view, his steps slowed. Sarah noticed. He must have enjoyed walking with her. She liked it, too, which felt odd, since he was a stranger. Odd but good. 

Arthur stopped as they reached the entrance to the station. He looked away from her and down the stairwell, as if what bit of confidence he had was ebbing. "If you go down these stairs, you can pick which line you want." 

Sarah nodded and smiled. "Thanks for the stroll, Arthur."

“Yeah.” After a few beats of silence, he gazed back up at her. "You know, I do stand-up comedy?"

She looked at him in disbelief. This guy? This bashful guy got up on stage in front of people? "Really?"

"Maybe you could come see a show sometime," he said.

She studied him for a few moments. The slight puffiness under his eyes, the tiredness in his face. The way he stood there, waiting for her reply with cautious hope, gave him an air of quiet fragility. Even though she was intrigued by him, she wasn't ready to give her personal information out. Not yet. She wracked her brain, trying to think of a kind but honest answer. "Well, my job is going to be bringing me to this area again soon. When we see each other, you can tell me when and where, okay?"

He smiled slightly at the non-committal response. "All right."

Sarah tried to hand him the umbrella. "I suspect you have a ways to walk."

He put his hand up, then pulled the hood on his jacket over his head. "It's okay, I just live over on Anderson." 

"Oh, okay." She cleared her throat. "Well, I've gotta go. See you around, Arthur." She started down the stairs, then turned to him again, blushing lightly as she met his eyes. “Thanks for the donut, too.”

~~~~~

Arthur felt like he could take on the world (or at least Gotham City). The nice woman from the store had somehow wound up in his nearby donut shop. He’d said hello. They’d gone for a walk. Shared an umbrella. Had a conversation. _He hadn’t fucked up._

When at the train station, he’d been tempted to follow her, not wanting to lose the connection they’d had. But he’d trailed his neighbor, Sophie, to work one time in a pathetic attempt to ask her out. He hadn’t worked up the nerve to do it by the time they’d reached Sophie’s place of employment, so he’d turned around. That evening, she had knocked on his door and explained, with more kindness than he deserved, that he’d alarmed her and following her was inappropriate. Even though he had been embarrassed, he appreciated her taking the time to spell it out for him. 

He was determined not to do something that stupid with Sarah.

Sophie. Sarah. _What was it with woman with S names? They’re both saucy and sweet._ Laughing lightly, he exited the elevator and headed towards his apartment. 

“Mom, I’m back.” After hanging his jacket, he put the donut on a small plate and cut it into bite-sized pieces. That would make it easier for Penny to eat. He poured her a cup of coffee and headed into the living room.

His mother was asleep in the easy chair. “Good Morning Gotham” was playing on the TV. Arthur approached her gently and shook her shoulder. Her eyes slowly opened. It took a few seconds for her to focus on him. “Oh, Happy, did you check the mail?”

“It’s too early. The mail hasn’t come yet.” He put the plate in her hands. “Here. Eat this. I’m going to do laundry. I’ll be in the basement.”

She kept her eyes on the television when she gave her delayed answer. “Okay, Happy.”

Arthur stepped by her, basket in hand. On the way out, he grabbed his pen and journal. Once the laundry was on, he sat in a chair across from the machine and opened the worn notebook across his lap. 

He thought of Sarah for a while, then his upcoming job at the children’s hospital on Wednesday. He’d been practicing his magic tricks, but would end with a dance. He loved working there. The kids were always so happy to meet Carnival the Clown. Maybe the upcoming week would be decent. A little kinder than most. 


	5. Chapter 5

The week hadn't been kinder than most. Arthur's mother continued to badger him into mailing letters to Thomas Wayne, which he always did, though it was starting to frustrate him. He’d gotten notice the fee for heating the apartment was going up due to record oil prices. And he'd been fired.

It was a harsh coincidence that his biggest failure had been at the place he loved to perform the best. He'd been singing "If You're Happy and You Know It" with the children at the hospital, moving along to the upbeat music. They were having fun; even the staff had been smiling. It had been one of those rare times that he'd felt _good_. But he'd lost himself in the dance, as he tended to do, and made a mistake.

He'd taken to carrying the .38 regularly for protection. Feeling less vulnerable was nice for a change. And Randall had been right: no one had known he had a gun.

The pistol had sat safely tucked in his waistband. But Arthur spun a little too eagerly, stomped his foot a little too hard. The pistol had fallen through his pant leg and onto the floor.

His head had whipped around at the sound of metal hitting the linoleum. Faking a cry, he’d lunged towards the weapon, giving it a slight kick. Maybe if he retrieved it foolishly, the nurses would think it was part of his act. He had grabbed it and shoved it in the lab coat he wore over his Carnival costume of a yellow vest and patched brown pants. Nervous giggles escaped him as he put a finger over his mouth, gently shushing the children. Thank god he hadn't had a laugh attack.

Now he sat on the subway, large prop-bag by his side, still in make-up and costume. He hadn't even removed his wig. The train car was quiet, with only a woman reading a book and a middle-aged lady nearby. Staring into nothing, he remembered his conversation with Hoyt.

Someone from the hospital had called before he'd gotten to a pay phone. The despair he'd experienced when begging for his job still sat heavy in his chest. Hoyt had called him a liar. Arthur _had_ lied. Hoyt hadn't believed Arthur before when he'd said he'd been jumped - why would he believe he was carrying the gun for self-defense?

And Randall... Randall had told Hoyt that Arthur had tried to buy the gun off him. It became clear to Arthur, then, that the gift, the kind gesture that had meant so much, had been the trick he'd originally suspected. He'd been an idiot to take the weapon. He hadn't even wanted it. He wasn't sure what hurt more: losing his job or being the fall guy.

It didn't matter, anyway. He shouldn't have brought that gun to the children's hospital. He was such a screw-up. It was difficult, how hard it was for him to make the right decisions sometimes. How could he be so good at taking care of his mother and so terrible at caring for himself? All he could do at the moment was sit and contemplate what went down.

The train came to a stop and three men in business attire walked in. Their volume and obnoxiousness made it clear they were drunk. A woman ran in after them and headed to the back left corner. She dropped onto the seat and took a folder out of her canvas bag. After a few seconds of watching her, Arthur realized it was Sarah. The corners of his lips turned up slightly. She had headphones on; he wondered what she was listening to. He wanted to go to her, but the men were in the way.

The shorter of the three men sat, eating fries out of the greasy paper bag he held. The other two friends continued to stand and talk.

"I'm telling you. She wanted my number. We should have just stayed." the man without a suit jacket said.

The taller man scoffed. "You're dreaming, man. She wasn't interested - at all."

"Did you see how close we were dancing?" the first man replied as the train began to move. "She was in love!" He started shimmying, badly, as he hung onto the pole grip

Arthur watched them closely, admiring their confidence. Maybe some of it would rub off on him.

The sitting guy held the paper bag out to the woman with the book. "Hey, do you want some fries?" When she didn't respond, he wiggled it at her. "Hello? I'm talking to you. Hey."

The woman looked up, answering politely. "No, thank you."

Confusion came across Arthur's face. Wasn't offering a woman a bite to eat a normal thing to do? He'd offered Sarah his favorite donut and she'd responded well. Maybe the woman wasn't hungry.

The dancing man sat next to the fry guy. "Don't ignore him, " he intoned, gesturing to his friend. "He's being nice to you."

French fries landed in the woman's hair as the men started throwing them at her. It was then Arthur understood the men's offerings were not kindly meant. They were like what Randall had done to him - selfish and ugly.

The woman looked to Arthur, obviously wanting him to intervene. He found he couldn't do more than look at her in sympathy. Even as he did that, he felt like a coward. Part of him wanted to speak up, but he was filled with unease. As his discomfort grew, he felt his body tense up, his throat begin to tickle. He shook his head lightly, turning away. Not now. 

_Not now, please..._

Loud, throaty laughter burst out of him. He felt the eyes of everyone stare at him. Wincing, he covered his mouth in desperation. He took a deep breath and lowered his hand, seeming to get his fit under control. But then his body betrayed him again, and more involuntary gales escaped.

The woman with the book got up and left the train car. Arthur didn't dare to give Sarah more than a glance. She was watching him and the men, taking her headphones off.

"Hey, asshole. What's so fucking funny?" he heard the tall guy yell at him.

Arthur's guffaws came even louder through his fingers. He lowered his hand to his stomach, willing his diaphragm to calm itself. He waved in their direction, trying to dismiss his outburst.

The men moved towards him. The tall one was singing, swinging from strap to strap as he got closer. Arthur could only choke out, "Please. Stop."

He felt his eyes tear up as they passed over Sarah, then down to the floor. He curled away as his laughter continued. The two times they'd met, he'd been able to hide himself from her. Now she was going to see him as the weak freak he was. She'd hate him. He'd lose her kindness. The same way he lost everything.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._ He hadn't spoken up out of fear of unwanted attention, and now his condition was making him a show. The gun in his waistband felt heavy against his abdomen. He felt like turning it on himself.

The feeling of warmth against his arm caused him to still. He screwed his eyes shut against the blows he knew were incoming.

"Come with me to the next car." Sarah's voice surprised him.

Arthur couldn't bring himself to face her, but, out of the corner of his eye, he could see she was standing between himself and the men. He wondered if it was all a dream. But it couldn't be. His affliction never struck him in those. No. This was real. And Sarah was tugging at his sleeve.

Still bent with laughter, he stood and grabbed his bag. He walked in front of her. The door to the next car seemed so distant.

"Hey," he heard the tall man yell. "What are you, lady, a clownfucker?"

Anger bloomed in Arthur’s chest. She was being insulted because of him. Shouldn't _he_ be rescuing _her?_ That's how it went in every film he'd seen. He stopped, starting to spin, wanting to go back and cold cock the guy. Before he could, though, Sarah gently pushed him forward. Reaching the door, he opened it, then passed through the second door and entered the next car.

It was empty, thankfully. And the men hadn't cared enough to follow them. He dropped his bag to the floor. Various items spilled out of it when it tipped over. Slumping down on a nearby seat, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. A confusing mix of consolation and shame coursed through him. "I'm-" he coughed, laughter finally subsiding. "I'm sorry."

She was standing some distance away, further than she had the other times they'd met. That wasn't lost on him. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"I - I have a condition." Fishing around in his inner vest pocket, he retrieved a laminated card that explained his laughter and held it out to her. He didn't know how he kept his hand from shaking. She'd know the truth now. Frustrated and sweating under his wig, he ripped it off and reached to shove it in his bag.

Sarah was suddenly crouched in front of him. "Arthur?"

Stilling, it dawned on him that she hadn't recognized him in costume. He'd given himself away. "Yes," he said, defeated. He lifted his gaze to her.

She was looking at him so... _affectionately_. There was empathy there, a little sadness. But a gentle smile was on her lips. He wished he could be sure of what it meant. She handed his card back to him, then started to pick up the props that had fallen out of his bag.

Relief she hadn't run away, and was seemingly glad to be around him, settled in his body. It was foreign. He watched her pick up the magic wand that had rolled a couple feet away. When she handed it to him, Arthur felt the urge to pull her into his arms. He settled for squatting next to her to help her pick up instead.

"You must have had a show tonight," she said. "How'd it go?"

That snapped him back to reality. He snorted humorlessly, shaking his head. "It went great."

"I'm sorry I missed it."

"It was at the children's hospital." He shut his eyes, remembering giving back the lab coat and his Dr. Arthur name tag. Anxiety crept back into his body. "It was nice." Slowly, he stood and brought his hand to the side of his face, fingertips smudging his make-up. "I'm sorry you had to see me like this. I understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore."

There was an awkward silence before Sarah chuckled. His eyes narrowed. Was she laughing at him? "Because you're dressed as a clown? Don't be ridiculous." The train slowed and she straightened, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. "This is my stop. Come on."

He picked up his bag and followed her to the doors, standing beside her. Once the train stopped, he followed her onto the platform. His steps slowed, doubt refusing to leave his head. "No." His earnestness felt disgraceful. "Because of my condition."

Sarah stopped and looked at him. "Arthur, it's fine." She continued along, then. "Let's go up. It smells like piss down here."

He blinked as she hurried up the nearby stairs and turned to wait for him at the top. Her silhouette against the background of streetlights and steam loaned him the strength to get his legs working. His pace quickened, a grin daring to spread across his face at the prospect of walking with her again.

When he caught up with her, he touched his ribs, sore from his earlier laughter. "If you didn't know who I was, why did you help me?"

She started going down the sidewalk at a slow but steady pace. "You were in trouble."

Guilt assuaged him at the slight disappointment he felt. He'd wanted to believe she'd helped him because he was _Arthur_ , not because he was some defenseless stranger on the subway. Straining, he fought that negative thought back. He didn't want to taint whatever they had with that. He should be glad she seemed to be a good person; he'd try to be.

Her continued answer warmed him, though. "I wouldn't have told anyone else this was my stop. Or invited them along." She flashed him a grin. "Know how I recognized you?"

A painted eyebrow lifted. "How?" he asked

"Your nice hair." She chuckled. "That's actually how I referred to you before I knew your name. 'Good hair, Tan jacket.'"

He made a face, looking away from her. Was she flirting with him or trying to cheer him up? Maybe she had a thing for weirdos. He'd happily be that weirdo. His hands raked through his unruly curls, trying to come up with a good reply. "Glad I took the wig off."

"Me, too," she said.

Arthur's head was spinning. He'd had a great gig, lost his job, been rescued by Sarah. What a fucking day. He reached up and squeezed his left shoulder. Yes, he was still here. She was still next to him. A breath he hadn't known he was holding escaped him.

At the next corner, Sarah stopped. "This is my street." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "I don't want to be pushy. You're a grown man. But are you gonna be all right on the way home? I mean, I could call a cab. It's a long walk, you don't have a coat, I-"

"I'll be fine," he said, gently but firmly. "Don’t worry about me."

Smiling wryly, she pointed at his prop-bag. "You could always take out anyone who bothered you with that." She rummaged around in her purse and held out a piece of paper to him. "Here. Just...call me tomorrow? The earlier the better. And let me know you made it." She continued as he took the it, his fingers brushing against hers. "It'll make me feel better."

He studied the business card intensely before putting it in his vest pocket. "Okay. Thank you. I- I don't know what to say."

She shrugged. "Just say you're alive. That won't be too hard, right?" She nudged him with her elbow.

That wasn't what he had meant, but her smile was infectious, and for once he didn't mind being misunderstood. "Yeah."

Sarah started off down the street, walking backwards. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Get home safe."

Arthur nodded and watched her turn to head the other way, standing there until she was out of sight. He patted his vest pocket and started to run home, in a hurry to get her card in a safe place.

~~~~~

Despite his firing, Arthur had had a busy morning. He'd dropped off the rent check, confirmed his upcoming appointment with the Department of Health, and gone to HaHa's to pack up his locker.

That last one had stung, but was surprisingly less stressful than he'd assumed it would be. He'd been able to avoid Hoyt, which was a rare stroke of luck. Arthur hadn't been sure if he would burst into tears, laugh, and beg for his job back, or punch him in the throat. His former co-workers either greeted or ignored him, as usual. There hadn't been many questions. When the Chippendale behind him joked about Arthur killing himself, he knew they were glad to be rid of him. Gary had shown sympathy, though, and it hadn't been fake like Randall's.

Arthur was fairly proud of how he'd revealed the pistol belonged to Randall. Then "punched out" by knocking the clock off the wall. Then ruined the sign telling everyone to smile. Sometimes pettiness was the only fuel to get through the day.

Now at home, Arthur was turning the business card Sarah had given him over and over in his hand. His knee bounced as he leaned back against the kitchen counter, smoking, running his thumb over the embossed name on the card-stock. It seemed like an easy thing, picking up the phone and calling a woman. When he daydreamed about it, it was. And he longed to. But, despite Sarah’s demand that he call her, he hadn't worked up the nerve to do it.

Walking with her after the train had felt... _normal_ , like what he wished for himself, when so few other aspects of his life did. Her smile, her friendliness - they hadn't disappeared despite his laughter or the taunting he'd been on the receiving end of. None of it had seemed to bother her. And she'd returned his card. They were usually discarded by those he gave them to. She'd looked into his eyes as she'd handed it back. His chest ached at the memory.

She was the kindest woman he'd met, the only one who hadn't talked to him because it was her job, but because she saw him. And here he was, letting his insecurities fritter away his chance to talk to her again.

It was already early afternoon. He muttered to himself and rubbed at his forehead. "'Hi, Sarah.' 'Hi, is Sarah there?' 'This is Arthur. Is Sarah available?'" He swallowed hard. Should he ask her out? He couldn't afford much, but he had a few dollars in his wallet. The thought of being in her presence again made his stomach flip.

Before his doubts could claw him back down, he pushed himself off the counter, picked up the receiver, and jabbed her office number into the phone. He puffed on his cigarette, willing himself not to hang up as it rang on the other end.

"Shaw & Associates. How can I help you?"

The calmness in his words concealed the force he put into being able to speak. "Is this Sarah?"

"Arthur!" The smile in her voice reached through the line and grabbed him. "I'm glad to hear from you." Her tone softened. "When I didn't hear from you this morning, I was afraid I'd have to hunt you down."

He braced himself on the wall next to the phone, relief washing over him. This time, he was fairly certain she was flirting. A unfamiliar thrill went through him, thinking of how to flirt back. "Maybe you're talking with a ghost?" he attempted. Sarah snorted lightly. He closed his eyes, pushing the next words out. "I want to repay you for last night and was wondering -"

"You don't owe me anything," she interrupted.

"- if you like pie?" he continued without stopping.

There were a few seconds of silence before her answer. "I love pie."

He smiled widely. "Okay. I have an appointment in your area tomorrow. In your office area. It's at three."

Her response came quicker than he expected. "Meet me outside my building at one? The address is on the card."

He nodded to himself. "Yeah. Okay. That sounds good."

Sarah’s gentle reply caused him to blush as he savored the sound of her voice. "I'm looking forward to it. See you then."

The receiver stayed in his hand until it began bleating at him. He slowly put it back in its cradle. Laughter started, genuine laughter, as he took a long drag off his cigarette.

What the hell was he going to wear?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: I'm so glad that people are enjoying this story. Thank you all so much for commenting and leaving kudos! They mean the world to me! <3

Sarah tried to avoid looking at her watch as she sat across from Matt, on the other side of his desk, taking dictation in shorthand. The last time she checked, probably five minutes ago, it was only 11:12 AM. Even as she wrote, catching every detail, her mind was willing the clock to go faster. She'd be meeting Arthur in under two hours. Her lips curved upwards at the thought of him.

Shortly after leaving him at the Newkirk station in Otisburg, after they'd gotten donuts, she'd realized the mistake she'd made in not getting his number. While it was true she'd continue to work in his area, she knew the chance she'd run into him a third time had been slim. Sure, he'd told her he lived on Anderson, wherever the hell that was, but that was it. She supposed she could have looked for his name on the buzzers of all the buildings on that street, if she was inclined to be a creep about it. 

While she’d dated casually, it had been a long time since she'd experienced any sort of infatuation. She simply hadn't had time for it. In the seven or so years before she'd come to Gotham, she'd done legal work part-time and shared a house with her father, who'd been wasting away with dementia. 

That had been the hardest period of her life, more difficult than her marriage amicably falling apart years prior. Her sister hadn’t been able to help much - she had a family of her own. And her mother had passed away shortly after her father’s diagnosis. It had been all on Sarah’s shoulders.

When she hadn't been at work, she'd been stuck in the daily grind of keeping her father calm, clean, and fed. It was never easy. The lack of time for herself had taken a toll on her. There were days when all she'd wanted was to be alone, but what she'd be left with was the same chores as always, and guilt for wishing it would end. When he died, she sold or donated most of her stuff and left.

Since moving, she appreciated not having anyone depend on her. Not having to answer to someone. Being on her own. Arthur had thrown a wrench into that. The feelings he’d stirred in her were unexpected. And lovely. But asking for his number then would have been leading them both on. She hadn't decided if she wanted him to pursue her - yet.

But if fate was going to throw an awkwardly charming, handsome guy at her three times, she wasn't going to argue.

The reason she'd been on that night's late train was the broken roller feed of the office photocopier. Multiple copies of motions that were over fifty pages long had to be made manually. She'd removed the high-heels from her aching feet and copied each page one by one. It had kept her aggravatingly late.

The laughter had gotten her attention, first. She'd assumed someone was having too good of a time. But when she'd seen him there, the clown with his hand over his mouth, it became obvious he was in pain. Once she saw the assholes in suits advancing on him, not helping hadn't been an option. 

She'd been relieved to see Arthur again, but the circumstances made it bittersweet. The situation, the laminated card, his condition. It had clicked for her why he was shy and reserved. As soon as he'd taken off that damned wig, she'd known she would give him her business card.

"Sarah?" Matt's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Are you with me?"

She blinked. "Yeah, sorry.” Her knuckles popped as she stretched her fingers. “This letter is going on a little too long. My hand's starting to cramp.”

He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms. "Yeah, you're right. We'll come back to it later." Spinning around, he grabbed the oversize mug of coffee sitting on the bookshelf behind him. "You look at that Wayne file yet? Sorry we didn't get to it earlier in the week."

"I've actually been trying to figure out how to talk with you about it," she said, furrowing her brow.

"Well, that's an odd thing to say." 

She tapped her pen against her legal pad. "I've looked at the file extensively. Mostly, it's motions back and forth for continuances, eminent domain filings, petty bickering...” Her lips twisted in a grimace. “But there wasn't evidence of anything being claimed by either party."

"Evidence?" he asked. "The buildings are deathtraps."

"Only if you read the Wayne Foundation's motions,” she countered. "I went to one of them on Saturday, and-"

Matt put his arms on his desk and leaned forward. "You what?"

Rolling her eyes, she waved his concern off. "No one saw me. Just an old lady getting her paper. It doesn't matter." She watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not an architect or engineer, but those buildings aren't in the shape the foundation is claiming.

"They’ve also said the buildings are almost empty, but a lot of people still live in the one I visited." She wiggled her foot under the desk before continuing. Matt wouldn’t have a heart attack, right? "They're getting letters telling them they have to leave within ninety days or forfeit their belongings."

He tapped his hand on the desk, looking vacantly at the surface. "Do you have any of these letters?"

Hurriedly, she went to her desk to grab the file. "The woman who saw me gave me this,” she said over her shoulder. “Don't worry. She doesn't know where I work." She dug out the envelope and came back, handing it over. 

Glancing at her, he took out the letter. His face remained calm as he read it. "It's not from any Wayne organization," he said. "They all have 'Wayne' in the name. I've never heard of Renew Corp."

"I know, but wouldn't this be a weird coincidence?" she asked. 

After a minute or so, he stuffed the document back in the envelope. "You don't know what Renew Corp. is doing. You have one letter from one person."

Slight exasperation entered her voice. "And the fact the buildings aren't as described? I've been going to City Hall on my lunch breaks the last two days to look up code violations. Only one address had them, and that was seven years ago."

Matt nodded, wringing his hands lightly. His voice was low when he eventually spoke. "I need you to stop this inquiry."

She was stunned. "I beg your pardon? Have we met?"

"I'm serious, Sarah." He tossed the envelope in the garbage can under his desk, then looked at her. Despite what he was saying, his eyes were friendly. "We have a duty to our client. That's the Wayne Foundation, not these tenants. We can't go sniffing around on their behalf."

Heat filled her as she clenched her jaw. Disappointing didn't begin to cover how this conversation was turning out. "That wasn't what I was doing," she said, measuring her words. "I was trying to back up the foundation's claims. What do you want me to do? Provide photos of peeling paint and linoleum?"

He gestured dismissively. "You don't need to worry about that. The foundation's big enough. It'll get the land. The whole thing just needs to work its way through the courts."

Sarah flinched. "Why did you put me on this case? To do more paperwork? Why did you want me to go through it?"

"For context. You're good at your job. And, yes, it's paperwork, but it's important." He huffed. "The Wayne Foundation wants to open a medical clinic in that area. It needs to go smoothly. With all the cuts going on right now, unemployment... Think of the jobs it'll provide. The services it'll offer."

She shook her head, not answering. This was beginning to feel like the old boys network in her dinky little hometown.

After some time, Matt stood. "Let's take a break."

Taking the hint, Sarah left his office, closing the door behind her. This was the first time she'd been told to let an investigation go. She knew the Wayne Foundation was their biggest client. But it frustrated her that her firm was willing to look past what she'd found. She had enough experience in the field to witness questionable legal actions. None of them had threatened hundreds of people before.

"Hey," Patricia said from behind her desk, drawing Sarah's attention. "I heard what he said. Don't listen to him. Keep doing what you're doing.” 

Sarah arched a brow at her. "I wasn't planning to stop." 

“Good. He doesn't have to know." Patricia chuckled. "Well, until he does."

“I’ll remember your wise words when I’m in the unemployment line,” Sarah teased.

Patricia snorted, then folded her arms over her chest. "Now, tell me more about this date you're going on." 

"I don't know if it's a date. I think it's a date." Laughing, Sarah shrugged. "I wouldn't mind it being a date." She considered her next words carefully, wanting to protect Arthur's privacy. "Like I said yesterday, I helped an acquaintance on the subway with his bags.” Sarah raised a finger when she saw Patricia’s mouth open. “And yes, before you ask, he’s good-looking. But too skinny for you, I think.” She sat on the corner of Patricia’s desk. "Anyhow, he invited me to pie to thank me. Should I bring you back a slice?"

"Don't worry about me. Just don't forget to come back." Patricia gave her a wink. “Promise?"

Sarah nodded back sharply. "Promise."

~~~~~

Before going outside, Sarah observed Arthur through the lobby windows. He was pacing between the building and the lamp post on the other side of the sidewalk. The expression on his face alternated between excitement and worry. And he was smoking like a man on his way to the gallows. It was sweet, but she wanted he'd be able to relax around her. 

Letting her eyes rove over him, she saw he was wearing another loose sweater, gray this time, usual collared shirt peeking out at the top. That tan jacket. Admittedly, she was hoping he'd wear something that accentuated his narrow waist, the way his vest had on the subway. She knew she shouldn't have noticed it, given what had happened. But as they'd strolled down the street together, she hadn’t been able to help herself.

Arthur straightened and flicked away his cigarette when she stepped out, his face lighting up. "Hey." His gaze held hers. "How are you?"

"This morning was trying, but," she grinned, "the day’s much better now." The smile he wore in response was the widest she'd seen on him so far. Still bashful, but enough for her to notice his dimples and one crooked tooth. _Get a grip, Sarah._ She swallowed hard and pointed him to where they were headed. "There's a diner around the next corner. I've never had their pie, but I'm sure it's good."

They arrived within minutes. Arthur picked a booth for two in the corner next to a window. After removing his jacket and tossing it on the seat, he reached out to help Sarah out of her coat. And she let him. 

A waitress came over immediately. "What'll you two be having?"

"Blueberry pie, please," Sarah said.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Just coffee."

When the server was out of sight, Sarah leaned forward. "How are you inviting me for pie and not ordering any?" She swatted his forearm playfully.

He moved his hands to his lap. "Sorry. I'm not usually hungry." 

"You'll just have to try mine," she said. The left corner of his mouth lifted at that and he gave a slight nod. 

She studied him, the small scar above his upper lip, the laugh lines on his face, the way the sunlight brought out the various tones of his chestnut locks. It was hard not to notice how stiffly he was sitting. He wanted to be there - she could see that in the way his green eyes admired her. But his body still radiated apprehension. How on earth could she ease his mind? Maybe being straightforward would be best. "Don't be anxious around me, Arthur. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be."

His shoulders loosened a little. "I don't mean to-" He stopped abruptly when the coffee and slice of pie were delivered. Grabbing the sugar dispenser, he put three servings into his mug, concentrating on his stirring. "I'm glad you came."

It was a small sentence, but Sarah sensed the effort if had taken for him to speak it. How much work had it taken for him to ask her out yesterday? She cut a piece of her pie. "So, I know you like sweets. You're a stand-up. And you work as a clown, I guess?" After tasting it, she offered the fork to Arthur.

There was only a moment’s hesitation before he smirked and took it from her. She wondered if his fingers skimming against hers were intentional. "That's my job. I'm a party clown. But I'm thinking of focusing on my comedy more." He took a bite. "This is good."

"It’s my favorite," she said. "You should tell me a joke. I’d love to hear one."

"All right." His forehead creased in concentration. "Um. Why did the old man like having insomnia?"

Sarah chewed thoughtfully, wondering where this was going. "Hm. I don't know. Why?"

"Because he didn't have to sleep with his wife." Arthur's eyes flicked to hers, his eyebrows raised slightly.

A short, sharp laugh escaped her. The joke hadn't disappointed. And his sudden boldness surprised her. She wanted to see more of it. "That was a good one, Mr. Fleck."

His face softened at that. After a moment, he asked, "What's your job?"

"I'm a paralegal." When she tried to offer the fork to him again, he politely declined. 

"What's that?" he asked.

Good. If he didn't know what her job was, he'd probably not been in any legal trouble. "I work at a law firm. Prepare for hearings and trials. Do lots of paperwork. I investigate, too, though I think it annoys my boss." A small snort escaped her. "I go to meetings. It's all very mundane."

Arthur placed another cigarette between his lips. "I don't think I could ever do a desk job."

"It's not for everyone," she said, waving his comment off. "And I work too much. But I love it." She grabbed a napkin from the nearby dispenser and wiped her mouth. "Do you have any hobbies? Besides comedy, I mean."

After lighting up and taking a deep breath, he rubbed the back of his neck. "When I'm not working, I mostly take care of - of my mother,” he said gently.

A tightness entered her chest. "I'm sorry she’s not well."

"She's been sick a long time." He rested his face on his hand. "Her disability isn't enough to cover the rent and everything, so I live with her." His fingers tapped his cheek. "It's easier that way. And with my condition..." 

Unsure how to continue, or even if she should, Sarah folded her hands together on the table. "You don't owe me an explanation. I didn't mean to pry."

"No, I don’t mind." He shook his head. "It’s just- I don't talk to people a lot. Outside of work."

She tapped her foot against his under the table. "You're fine," she said. He huffed and ran a hand over his hair, toothy grin spreading across his face. Her heart quickened at that. She lowered her voice, leaning closer. "May I ask you about what was on your card? Your condition?"

“What about it?” he asked softly.

“How long have you had it?” 

Arthur straightened, taking a drag off his cigarette. The smoke curled around his face as he frowned at the table. “As long as I can remember.”

She bit her lip. “Is there anyway to help?”

“Changing positions. Breathing exercises. Distraction. They don’t always.” Closing his eyes, he let out a sad chuckle. “It happens at the worst times.”

“Like on the train?”

He pushed his mug away as he signed. “Like on the train.”

Sarah felt like an ass, a well-meaning jerk. She’d been too flippant the other night when she’d told him, simply, that his laughter was “fine.” Sitting here with him, it was obvious his condition caused him distress. And now her genuine attempt at getting to know him had made him uncomfortable. The light mood when he’d picked her up had been replaced with unease. She reached out to touch the back of his left hand as it rested on the table.

His eyes shot to hers; she could hear his sharp intake of breath.

“It’s all right,” she intoned. Smiling, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. It doesn’t bother me.”

A sad, hiccuped laugh left his throat. His thumb caressed the web between her thumb and forefinger. “Sometimes I think I imagined you. That you can’t be real.”

Sarah snickered at that. “Haven’t my questions annoyed you enough to know I’m here?”

He stamped out his cigarette in the table’s built-in ashtray, then got up. “That isn’t the word I’d use.”

After she stood, he helped her with her coat. “What word would you use?” she asked.

The sidelong glance he gave her made her blush profusely.

“Do you have to go back to work already?” The disappointment on his face was plain to see. He pulled out his wallet and placed a few dollar bills on the table.

“No, I have some extra time. Help me walk off the pie,” she said.

He grinned, clearly happy to oblige.

~~~~~

When Sarah returned to work, she leaned back on the lobby door and giggled. Dammit. She needed to pull herself together before going back to her office. Taking the stairs to the third floor would be best.

She’d enjoyed the date (it had definitely been a date) with Arthur even more than expected. After she’d expressly told him his condition wasn’t a black mark, he’d opened up. She liked hearing him speak, wondering what else was hiding under that timidity of his. He’d even tried to crack a couple more jokes. They’d been corny, not particularly funny, and she’d groaned instead of laughed. He’d looked confused at first, but he seemed to understand she was delighted. 

He’d pointed out a few of his favorite spots in the district, places she wouldn’t have ever found on her own. A comedy club here, a consignment shop there. Music had come up. Surprisingly, he’d said outright that he was a good dancer. Dancing was a mystery to her. She couldn’t even clap in time. But it helped explained the grace he sometimes displayed.

At the end, when he’d accompanied her back to her firm’s building, he’d looked at her like he wanted to kiss her. He’d either been too shy or respectful to do it, and simply nodded his goodbye. Either way, that was what sealed it for her. She didn’t repeat the mistake of letting him go without getting his address and phone number.

It had been a long time since she wanted to really know someone, to lighten their day and have their presence brighten hers. It felt a little alarming - but mostly wonderful.


	7. Chapter 7

When Arthur arrived back home, it was nearly seven. He’d gone to Pogo’s, again, to try to get a spot to perform. No money was coming in and he was desperate for a chance. With a sigh, the manager had told him about an upcoming open-mic night for new comics next Tuesday. That gave him almost a week to perfect his set. He hadn’t hesitated when he signed up. Until then, he’d continue to practice his facial expressions and punchline timing in his bathroom mirror.

Penny still didn’t know about his firing from HaHa’s - he didn’t want her worrying. In the morning he’d leave the apartment and search for work a couple of hours, going from business to shop to anywhere. He hadn’t had any success. There weren’t a lot of opportunities for an uneducated clown with an unstable employment history, even if he had a work ethic.

Luckily, he never had to be out too long to hide his unemployment from her. Penny didn’t pay much attention to the exact times he was around and rarely asked questions. As long as he was there to check the mail, get meals, keep her company for a few minutes, and watch Murray Franklin, she didn’t pry. At times he wished she would, but her lack of meaningful attention was currently convenient.

It also meant he didn’t have to tell her that his therapy appointments and medication access had been stopped due to budget cuts. That had been a blow. He didn’t understand how something he’d been court ordered to participate in could be taken away. The appointments weren’t particularly helpful, he thought. But they were something on his calendar, and he hadn’t missed a single one. He’d shifted his work schedule around, missed out on good gigs to get to them. He’d written in that damn journal, the one thing that seemed to do him some good, _every day_. At least he could continue with that.

Fuck. And to be told right after the first date in his life…

He smiled softly, thinking about Sarah. If the day had ended after their pie and stroll together, it would have been perfect enough to frame. She’d asked him about his condition, seemed to be curious about it in a caring way. At first, he was uncomfortable talking about it. Normally, his involuntary laughter only came up when he was apologizing for it. But she had discussed his affliction in a way that stopped him, at least temporarily, from feeling like a freak. And the way she’d caressed his hand at the diner when she’d noticed his discomfort… It had been wonderful to be touched by someone other than his mother. 

As they’d walked together, their steps in sync, he longed to put his arm around her waist. To feel the warmth of her body against his side, turn his face into her hair and kiss her head, the way he’d seen in films. And, if he did that, every person they passed would know that she was with _him._ This city that he hated, its thoughtless inhabitants, would know this beautiful, accomplished woman had chosen to spend her time with _Arthur Fleck_.

He would never comprehend that choice. But he was grateful for it.

When she had given him a pen and paper to write his address and number, it took him a moment to gather himself enough to jot it down. He hoped he’d been able to keep the look of shock off his face. To his surprise, Sarah had called that night to thank him for taking her out. She’d given him her home number, too, which he’d written on a paper taped to the wall next to the phone, and on a paper that he’d put in his wallet, and in his notebook. The conversation had been short, sweet, and she’d asked if she could call the next night.

Christ, she had to ask? He’d finally have something to look forward to after watching television with his mother.

Since then, they’d spoken for at least a minute or two each night, though their conversations had gotten a little longer with every call. Admittedly, Sarah called him most of the time. He’d been confident enough to reach out twice, though, and he felt good about that. He could tell she’d been pleased, too.

During every conversation, Sarah asked him to tell her a joke. Arthur happily obliged. Her gentle groans and chuckles made him grin, and caused a tight feeling in his chest. More than once, he’d pinched himself to make sure he hadn’t made her up - afterward, she was always still there.

The facts he’d learned about her went straight into his journal, so he could reread them multiple times a day. She recently started work on a case involving the Wayne Foundation. (”Will I ever stop heering that name?”) She lived in Burnley. (”Three train stops or a 40 minut walk away!”) She’d been divorced for over ten years, but it had been mutual, so, in her words, “no baggage there.” That last one made him painfully aware of his own inexperience.

When she pressed him to talk about himself, it was hard to know what to say. He couldn’t tell her he was on a ton of medications, or that he’d been in Arkham. She’d already claimed to have accepted his laugh - he wasn’t going to press his luck this soon.

No one besides doctors and counselors, and occasionally Gary, usually wanted to hear anything about him. And he thought he’d covered everything he didn’t have to hide in the diner. “There isn’t much to tell,” he’d breathed.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to see you again, Mr. Fleck.” Her voice had dropped conspiratorially. “Can you come by for dinner Friday night? Around seven? I know it’s short notice, but it would be great if you could.”

_Oh my god._

His pulse sped up. He pressed his palm against his chest. “Yes. Yes, I think I can. I can.” He wrote her address down shakily, as if he was afraid the pen would stop working.

“Great. I can’t wait to see you, Arthur.”

After he’d hung up the phone, he’d been so thrilled he did a little two-step. Then he went into the bathroom, the only room that would lock and guarantee him a moment’s peace, and turned on the shower. He’d stepped in, taken his erection in his hand, and stroked and tugged himself to completion. Remembering her voice, imagining it was her hand on him, his mouth on her lips, on her neck, between her thighs. The water muffled his cries as he leaned against the wall with his arm.

Now, Thursday evening, Arthur was mopping the kitchen floor, a cigarette hanging from his lips. The radio was on, playing Lawrence Welk, and he swayed to the music. He hummed softly, his movements becoming more of a dance as his thoughts turned to tomorrow night. She’d be cooking for them, for _him._ Even though he was never hungry, he’d do his best to enjoy whatever she made. He wondered what her apartment would be like, sure it would be as warm as she was. Would there be candles? Did the wallpaper have flowers on it? Should he bring something?

He brought the mop handle up closer and led it around like a partner, feeling a little foolish but also enjoying himself. He closed his eyes. “What, Sarah?” If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel her against him. “You want me to do what?” Chuckling, he shook his head. “You don’t mean that, you-”

The door buzzer broke him out of his fantasy. Who the hell would be coming over now? Furrowing his brow, he straightened and leaned the mop against the counter. He smoothed his hair back, plucked the cigarette from his mouth, and opened the door.

Gary stood there, a small smile on his face. “Hey, Arthur. How’s it going?”

“Gary, hi.” Arthur had never had a co-worker over before. He didn’t mind the intrusion, though. “What are you doing here?”

Gary lifted his arm and held out a small plastic bag. “You forgot to take these when you left.”

Arthur took the bag and looked inside it. A couple of pots of blue and red makeup were in it, as well as brushes he’d left on the vanity at HaHa’s. He nodded at the thoughtful gesture. “Thanks.” He motioned towards the apartment with his left hand. “Do you want to come in?”

Gary looked surprised, but stepped forward. “For a minute, yeah.”

“Happy, who’s that at the door?” Penny’s voice came from the bedroom.

Arthur closed the door, then turned and called back to her. “No one, mom. They had the wrong apartment.” He looked down at Gary apologetically. “My mother…”

“It’s okay.” Gary put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the wall. “So…have you got a new gig yet?”

It felt strange to Arthur to have a conversation with Gary in his own entrance-way while towering over him. As there were no chairs nearby, Arthur moved to sit next to him on the floor. “Not yet. I’ve been writing a lot though. Five jokes in a week. Actually,” he brightened, “I’ve got a show on Tuesday. It’s not paying but it’s a start.”

“That’s great,” Gary said.

“Yeah.” There was a long pause, then. Arthur looked at Gary as he took a drag off his cigarette. “And I… I have a date tomorrow night.” He hoped he hadn’t crossed a line. They hadn’t been close, but Gary had never made fun of him. He had merely needed to tell someone besides Penny.

Gary looked genuinely happy for him. “Who is she?”

It was strange but good to talk about Sarah to someone. “Her name’s Sarah. She’s pretty.” Even though he still didn’t understand what she did for work, he said it with pride. “She’s a paralegal.” He laughed softly. “It’s crazy. I met her at a grocery store. Now I’m going over for dinner.” A sigh escaped him, his eyebrows lifting as insecurity filled him. “She’s important to me. And I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Gary pursed his lips. “Did she invite you over for dinner or _dinner?_ ”

Arthur blinked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“How long have you known each other?” Gary asked.

Arthur did a quick count of the days in his head, then shrugged. “Three weeks?”

Nodding, Gary said, “Hm. Just be a gentleman. Don’t try too hard. And be ready in case she wants dessert.”

Arthur caught his meaning then and felt himself blush. A short chuckle escaped him as his hand went to his forehead. He made a mental note to go through all his Murray Franklin tapes and re-watch every Dr. Sally segment he could find.

Gary straightened then. “Well, I gotta go. It was good seeing you,” he said.

Arthur pushed himself off the floor. “Sure.” He reached for the doorknob, thinking a moment before opening the door. “Gary, you were the only one at HaHa’s that was nice to me. Thanks.”

Gary took a step back through the door frame, a small grin on his face. “Take care, Arthur.”

“You, too.” Arthur started to close the door as Gary started down the corridor, but thought better of it and stuck his head out into the hallway. “Gary?”

Gary turned around. “Yeah?”

Arthur paused, then went for it. “You can tell Randall I have a date. If you want.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Totally self-indulgent, but when Sinatra is mentioned, this is the song I hear playing (though almost any would do): [Nice 'N' Easy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6LO2IpBKtlw)

Arthur paced in front of the door to Sarah’s apartment. His shoulders lifted as he sucked in a deep breath. He couldn’t stop fiddling with the collar buttons of the red sweater he wore (one of the few pieces of clothing he had that fit him properly). A rose was in his hand, one he’d grabbed at a vendor on the way over. He’d gotten it on a lark - women were supposed to like flowers. Now he was on the verge of worrying off the leaves.

_It_ _’ll be fine. It’s only Sarah._ Only Sarah - what a joke.

Forcing himself to stand still, he slowly raised his hand to trace the apartment number, 4A. Then he swallowed hard and knocked.

“Just a minute!” she called.

At the sound of her voice, he leaned forward to listen to her slight shuffling. As her footsteps brought her nearer, he screwed his eyes shut, trying to calm his pulse. Hearing the sound of the deadbolt being unlocked, he straightened. The door swung open.

There she stood, beaming. His breath stopped. That smile was for him. Because of _him_. It was hard to take-in. His eyebrows lifted and he held out the flower. “Hi.”

“Hi, Arthur. You look wonderful.”

His cheeks burned and he lowered his eyes to the floor. “Thanks. So do you,” he said.

Sarah took the rose from him and gently ran her fingertips over the petals. “This is lovely. Thank you.” She stepped back, then, and extended her arm to guide him inside. “Come in, come in.” After closing the door behind her, she darted back to the kitchen. “You can put your coat on the hooks by the door.”

He did as she instructed, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up next to hers. He felt his throat clench and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. _Don_ _’t fuck this up._ Letting out a long breath, he stepped further into the apartment and peeked around.

It was different than he’d imagined. The white walls were sparsely decorated, with a calendar here or a print there. The cream colored carpet was plush, but struck him as a pain to keep clean. The living area was larger than his own, maybe by ten square feet. In the low light of the side table lamp, he could see there were no knick-knacks anywhere, no photos. Two doors were connected to the room, which he deduced were for the bathroom and bedroom. A third, glass door led outside. His eyes went to the kitchen, which was in the same spot as in his own apartment. It was somewhat longer, with a dining nook at the end.

He knew he was out of place. The freshness, the newness of the apartment was a stark contrast to his own, aged home. It was nice to be here, though. Different, but nice.

Sarah interrupted his reverie. “Did you have any trouble finding your way here?”

Arthur approached her, leaning against the kitchen entrance and folding his arms over his chest. “No, you gave good directions.”

She cocked her head at him. “I was thinking the other day how it’s funny you live so close by. Well, relatively close by.” Stirring slowly, her attention back to the stove, she continued. “I wonder how often we passed each other without noticing,” she said.

The words, spoken in her usual casual tone, landed with him, hard. He didn’t answer, unsure of what to say. Instead, he tried to focus on her easy manner. So far, it had always helped him relax.

He let his eyes rove over her form, noting that her conservative heels complimented the curves of the back of her calves. Her knee-length skirt prevented him from checking out her thighs, but it accentuated the feminine silhouette of her backside. The blue sweater she wore was snug, and he could make out the curve of her breasts. Her hair looked soft, and he alternated between wanting to touch it and breath in her scent.

The moment she looked at him, he averted his eyes to what she was cooking. He didn’t recognize it. “That smells good. What is it?”

“Beef stroganoff. I can’t take too much credit. My crock-pot did most of the work. I’m just boiling the egg noodles now, which is about the height of my cooking skills.” She huffed and shook her head at herself. “I’m selling myself well, aren’t I?”

Arthur met her gaze, then pushed himself to verbalize what came to mind. “I’m already sold on you.” He froze for a split second, then smiled in relief as her eyes warmed and he realized he’d said the right thing. As she retrieved a colander, he saw that she’d put the rose he’d brought in a glass of water. Emboldened, he stepped next to her. “I’m actually okay around the kitchen, taking care of my mother… Maybe I can help?”

She placed the colander in the sink as she fished a noodle out of the pot. After testing it, she handed him oven mitts. “Yeah, would you drain these? The pot’s heavy and I messed up my wrist at work today. Too much typing.”

He put them on and picked up the pot. “Are you all right?” he asked. Dumping the noodles into the sink, he watched her take out plates, cutlery, wine glasses, and a bottle of red wine.

_Shit._ Maybe Gary had been right.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she said, placing the silverware on the table. “Happens sometimes. Occupational hazard.” She grabbed the wine corker and opened the bottle, then held it out to him. “Here. You pour and I’ll serve.”

“Um, okay.” He took the it from her and furrowed his brow at the glasses. He’d drunk occasionally, but wine was new to him, and he was trying to figure out how much to pour. Half a glass? A full glass? He went with the latter.

Sarah’s hand was on his bicep in an instant and he stiffened. “Arthur, that’s too much,” she laughed. “Are you trying to take advantage of me?”

He flinched and put the bottle down. Did she really think that? “No, I wasn’t-.”

Her hand moving down his arm to the back of his hand stopped him. “I’m teasing you,” she said. She gave him a little squeeze. “You’re going to have to get used to it.”

The smile she was giving him, the glint in her eye, her close proximity. For a moment, he could see himself clearing the counter with his arm, lifting her onto it, stepping between her legs, pulling her mouth to his -

A nudge from her elbow caught his attention. “Is this enough?”

He blinked down at the portion. It was more than he usually ate in a day. “That’s plenty.”

After serving herself, she grabbed both plates and brought them to the small, round table at the end of the kitchen. He followed her lead, wine glasses in his hands. The corner of his mouth turned up when he saw he was supposed to sit next to her, not across from her. She sat down and put a cloth napkin in her lap, and, taking his cue from her, he did the same. “Well, enjoy.”

Arthur watched her movements for a few seconds before starting. He wasn’t used to sitting at a table and eating with someone, even though he’d often wished for it. It had always been more casual: TV dinners on the couch, or alone at his table as he wrote in his journal. He observed the way she held the knife and fork, in her right and left hands, respectively. He was used to cutting his food with the side of his fork. He tried to hold the cutlery in the same manner she did, but it felt unnatural. He could feel himself tense up. A short laugh forced its way through his throat. Wincing, he instinctively covered his mouth.

Sarah lightly put her hand on his shoulder, caressing him soothingly, then gave him a tender squeeze. “It’s okay. I’m a little nervous, too.” She hummed softly with a blush. “And I didn’t invite you here to be uncomfortable or someone else. Eat how you want.”

His eyes watered but he managed to blink it back, hoping she didn’t notice. She had no idea how often he wished to be someone else, away from this city, his conditions. But not tonight. He was glad to be here tonight. With her. Lowering the hand from his lips, he nodded. Taking his fork in his right hand, he took a bite. He chewed it slowly and mulled over the texture. “It’s very good,” he said. “Thank you.”

“It’s great when the weather’s this chilly.”

A few mouthfuls later, he tried the wine. It was surprising, a little dry, but he decided he liked it. He cleared his throat. “I know we talked about this before, but I still don’t understand how you could choose Gotham to live in. There are other cities.”

She took a drink herself. “I needed time to save up enough money to move. I was doing legal work at home, too. Once I’d put away enough and could leave, I applied to every paralegal job in a big city. Metropolis, Toronto, Central City. I didn’t care where it was. And I got work in Gotham.” She looked pleased. “I’m glad I did.”

Bashfully, he smiled back. “Me, too,” he said.

Looking ahead, she chewed thoughtfully. “I never felt at home in Boonville, you know? It’s such a small town. Nothing to do, not much opportunity. I thought I’d be able to settle down there and be content with my ex-husband, but that didn’t happen.” She squinted then and her eyes pierced his. “It doesn’t bother you, does it? That I’m divorced? I know it’s unusual, but I got married twenty years ago when we were both young and stupid.”

He wouldn’t have minded if she’d been locked up in Arkham with him. Arthur shook his head. “Does it bother you that I’m not?” He could see her shoulders loosen at his answer.

Chuckling, she continued to eat. “You seem to hate it here.”

He paused, pondering what to say that wouldn’t put her off. For reasons he would never understand, she loved Gotham. “People can be awful.” Bitter memories starting surfacing. “They’ll cut you off in line like you’re not even there. There was a homeless guy once, who died on the sidewalk near where I live. People were just stepping over him. Like they didn’t even notice.”

His voice lowered as he poked at the food on his plate. “What happened on the train?” he said. “That wasn’t the first time. You’re the only reason I got out of there all right.” He brought a hand to his forehead. “It’s tiring. And embarrassing.”

Sarah’s hand touched his and he let her pull it away from his face. “Don’t be embarrassed because others are assholes. Just don’t be one yourself. That’s all anyone can do.” She finished the last few bites of her food. “There are awful people everywhere.” A short snort escaped her. “At least here it’s in your face and you know where you stand.”

They continued in silence for a few moments, Arthur finishing his meal. “Oh, I haven’t told you yet.” He perked up, a wide smile on his face. “I have a stand-up show next Tuesday at eight. Maybe you should come see me?”

She stood, grinning down at him “Of course I’ll be there. Just tell me where.” Bending slightly at the waist, she picked up their plates. “Would you like seconds?”

He observed her, the closeness of her face. Suddenly, he was hungry again. “Please.”

~~~~~

Nicotine soothed what remained of Arthur’s nerves as he stood on the fire escape, cigarette in his mouth. He’d been craving a smoke since entering the apartment building. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he went over the evening so far. He was feeling pretty good, which was new. He hadn’t made a mistake, except with the wine, which Sarah didn’t seem to mind too much. It was nice to be around a person who so comfortable with themselves. He hoped it would be contagious - it seemed to be when he was around her.

At least partially. Part of him wondered what she saw in him, anyway. A professional woman like her interested in a high-school dropout like him? He hadn’t minded leaving school at the time. It had been difficult, with his laughter and black moods. And quitting had eventually become a necessity so he could take care of his mother. Working odd jobs and concentrating on comedy and performing had helped him get out of his own head, at least for a time. Sarah was such a contrast, having gone to college and made something of herself. He hoped she never realized he was worthless.

He closed his eyes against the musings worming their way into his brain, wishing his mind would let him enjoy himself. He felt himself slipping sometimes, though he still mostly managed to push through the negative thoughts. They were recurring more often, however. Two of his medications had run out. He only had enough of the rest to get him through Sunday. The effects of suddenly stopping them wasn’t something he knew much about, having been on them for so long. And now he had no one he could go to to ask. So far, the most obvious change had been the shortening of his refractory period from a few days to a few hours.

Though Sarah might have also helped with that. He blushed, feeling a little shameful, thinking about it with her maybe twelve feet away.

As if on cue, he heard her open the glass door behind him. “The ad for the apartment said this was supposed to be a balcony,” she giggled. When he didn’t reply, she loosely put her arm around his back at his waist. “Arthur, you’re so tightly wound. I want you to have a good time. You need more wine.”

He chuckled, the corner of his mouth turning up as he blew smoke through his nose.

Her voice was apologetic when she spoke again. “I’ve noticed when I touch you, you sometimes tense up.” Sarah stroked his side, softening her words. “Should I stop? I don’t want to, but if you-”

Arthur turned to her, grasping her hand desperately. “No. Please.” He entwined their fingers, savoring her smaller palm against his own. It was odd to voice what he craved as if it mattered. “I want you to touch me. I think about it a lot.” He scoffed at his own vulnerability. “I’m - I’m just not used to it.”

She nodded in understanding, tightening her hold on him. “It’s been a couple years for me, too.”

He flicked his cigarette off the ledge and watched it as it fell. _It_ _’s only been thirty-five here._

“Come back in,” she said, turning and pulling him inside. “It’s cold out and you could do without the cancer sticks.”

The notes of music coming from a radio in the corner caught his ear. Sinatra was playing. After closing the door, she stood in front of him expectantly. When he gave her a crooked smile but didn’t move, she extended her hand to him. “Mr. Fleck, you told me you were a good dancer,” she said, lifting an eyebrow. “Show me? Quick, before the alcohol wears off and I change my mind.”

He grasped her hand tenderly, then, and stepped closer. “Change your mind? About me?”

“No, silly. Embarrassing myself.” She gripped his shoulder.

Arthur scoffed. “I don’t think that’s possible.” It took him a couple seconds to steel himself before he could place his hand on her side. Gently, he started to move, leading her to the song’s beat and rhythm. He longed to look into her eyes, and did so for a few moments before self-consciousness took over. When that happened he pulled her closer, his eyes shutting as his jaw grazed her cheek.

After a few minutes, her forehead fell forward onto his shoulder. She moved her hand to his chest and sighed contentedly. “Where’d you learn how to dance?”

His hand went over hers. “My mom taught me when I was little. That’s when I started. And I’ve listened to a lot of Jackie Gleason Orchestra records.” He dipped her, then, not too far, but enough to feel her weight on his arm.

She laughed. “Those records are so cheesy. I love it.” When he brought her back up, she put her hand to her forehead. “I gotta sit down. My head’s spinning.” At his disappointed groan, she waved dismissively and sat on the couch. After taking off her heels and pouring a third glass of wine, she cleared her throat. “I’ve been thinking about you and your mother. You’re in a tough situation. I’ve been there.”

“You have?” he asked.

Sarah swallowed hard, taking a drink. “One of the reasons I had to stay home for so long was my father. He had dementia.” Looking up at him, she added, “Is that what you deal with?”

His brow pinched and he sat next to her. “I’m not sure. She’s been sick a long time. She focuses on strange things.” He rolled his eyes, already annoyed. “Lately, she’s been obsessed with Thomas Wayne.” Sighing, he said, “She keeps writing him letters asking for help, because she worked for them thirty years ago.”

She nodded and turned her body to face him. “My father got like that, too. Always obsessed with the mail. Thinking someone was stealing from him.” She sniffled once and swiped at her nose. “My mother had passed away. My sister - I have a sister - she tried but she has her own children.” Tucking her feet under herself, she leaned against the back of the sofa. “In the end, the worst thing was the emotional back and forth. Most days he was a shadow of who he used to be. But there were days when he knew who I was.” She clicked her tongue. “You keep hoping for more of those, but they don’t come.”

Arthur saw her lip tremble and her eyes gloss over. Pressure formed in his chest. He wanted to comfort her and make her smile, but he didn’t know how to do it. He settled for putting his hand on her forearm and turning to her.

Staring into the distance, she continued. “You get to the point where you don’t recognize yourself. All you want is to be alone with your thoughts instead of…” She blinked a couple times and looked at him, as if realizing she wasn’t alone, and grimaced shyly. She put down the wine glass. The heel of her hand went to her eyes to wipe away unshed tears. “Whew. I shouldn’t have started that third glass. I’m sorry. I’ve ruined our beautiful evening.”

  
“No,” he answered quickly, moving his hand to her shoulder, the way she had comforted him at the dinner table. “You didn’t.”

She stood, still seemingly embarrassed. “You’re too kind.” She held her hip and looked down at him. “You’ve asked a couple of times if I was real. Are you sure you are? You seem too good to be true. How are you not married with five children or something?”

He widened his eyes and studied the surface of the coffee table, laughing quietly. Good thing she couldn’t read his mind. Or his journal. “Now I know you’ve had too much to drink,” he said.

She continued to stand there, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. “It’s possible.”

He smiled wryly. Sensing the evening was winding down, he picked up the glasses and brought them to the kitchen. He put his hands on the edge of the counter, grasping until his knuckles were white. Even though he knew it would be the right thing to do, considering she was tipsy, he didn’t want to leave.

Sarah followed. Her hand touched the small of his back as she moved to rummage in a bottom cabinet. “Let me pack some of this up for you and your mother.” She pulled out a few Tupperware dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

Not heeding his words, she started to fill each dish with a separate part of the meal. “I’m one person. It’ll go bad before I eat it. Plus, I want to.”

Arthur slowly went to the door and pulled on his jacket. When he turned around, she stood before him, a grin on her face, bag of leftovers dangling from her fingertips. “Thank you for coming over, Arthur. It was the best night I’ve had in a long time.” She leaned forward, stood on her toes, and gave his cheek a tender kiss.

He let out a long breath, then, staring at the floor before meeting her look. Before the moment passed, before he left, he had the urgent need to do something, _anything_. His voice cracked slightly. “Sarah, I…” For one of the first times in his life, he followed his instinct, placed his hands on the sides of her face, and leaned in to kiss her.

Sarah’s lips were soft, _so soft_ , against his own, and her short moan warmed him. He could feel her pull him closer, her hands going across his back as his own slid down to her sides. She tilted her head and deepened the kiss, one of her palms going to the nape of his neck, her fingers in his hair. When her fingernails met his scalp, a groan escaped him and he grasped her hip. It happened so quickly. He felt himself hardening in his pants as her lips sought his.

She broke the kiss first, gasping and giggling. “I’ll be at your show next week, all right?”

Arthur was lightheaded; she was still hanging onto him. His voice was unsteady when he answered. “Yes. Okay.”

She finally released him from her arms and handed him the food. He took it gratefully, a sad smile breaking out as he turned to leave. She tempered the blow by giving him another quick kiss when she opened the door. “Get home safely.”

He nodded, voice raspy when he answered. “I will.”

She slowly started shutting the door, whispering, “Good night” before it closed completely.

Arthur stood in the hallway. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he attempted to quiet his heart. Did she know what she did to him, how quickly and hard he had already fallen for her?

With a sigh, he started down the hall, stretching his arms in front of him to expel the energy built up in his wiry frame. After the elevator opened, he entered it with a little spin, and chuckled, thinking about he was going to need a new journal after writing tonight.


	9. Chapter 9

"Ms. McPhee, thank you for the tea and cookies," Sarah said, putting her mug on the small coffee table between them. "They were delicious. But keep the box of tea cakes I brought, all right?"

In the dark green overstuffed chair across from her, Ms. McPhee gave her a warm look. "They were no problem. It's nice to have company." She hesitated before speaking again. "Do you think you'll be able to help?"

Sarah reached to pet the cat lying next to her on the worn, gray sofa, searching for an answer. Getting the woman’s hopes up would be unkind. But with all the hours Sarah was working, and what she believed she was finding, she was stubborn enough to try. "I don't know what the outcome will be," she started. A soft smile crossed her face in an attempt to encourage the older woman. "But I'll do everything I can. How long did you and your husband live her?"

Ms. McPhee crossed her ankles as she rocked her chair. "Let me see."

While Ms. McPhee pondered, Sarah's eyes surveyed the apartment. It was tiny, and the living room had an open, cream color kitchenette on the end. A mini-fridge was under the short counter. There was an old oven, but the stovetop must not have functioned, because a hot plate sat on it. Half the cabinets were missing knobs, and the drawers no longer fit in their slots correctly. There wasn't room for a table; a folded TV dinner tray was leaned against the wall. Sarah exhaled sharply. This woman had so little - and here she was, having to fight to keep it.

"We moved here in 1942," Ms. McPhee continued, breaking Sarah's train of thought. "After Phil got hurt at Ace."

"Ace Chemicals? What happened?"

"Industrial accident. He had burns on over seventy percent of his body." Ms. McPhee took another sip of tea. "There was no way for him to keep working. And social security didn’t exist yet. Back then it was harder for women to get a job. I was a secretary for a little while, then an operator. But we still struggled, especially with our daughter on the way." Gesturing towards the ceiling, she continued. "This place was a godsend. Most landlords didn't accept housing vouchers. We were lucky."

Sarah wasn’t sure that was the word she would have used. Luck would have been not having an industrial accident in the first place. Or at least having had to struggle less when misfortune had knocked them down. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but admire Ms. McPhee’s resilience.

“You’ve been through a lot.” Gently, Sarah asked, "When did he pass away?"

"Four years ago. Heart attack." Ms. McPhee's lips pursed. "We went through a lot together. I know it's not much, but I don't want to leave. It was difficult but we built a life here."

That Sarah understood. Her parents had lived in the same house for almost fifty years, and had, as they had continuously reminded her, "held onto it during the depression, so don't take it for granted." And, before he'd completely lost himself, the home's familiar walls, carpets, and furniture had soothed her father. If some faceless corporation had tried to push them out, he would have raised hell.

Blinking the memory away, Sarah grabbed another chocolate chip cookie. "You mentioned earlier that people had come by to talk to you. Did they give you any sort of card?"

"They were so neatly dressed, I thought they were Mormons." They both laughed at that, Sarah coughing softly on a crumb. "But when I opened the door, they just had questions about my apartment," Ms. McPhee said. “I asked for ID, but they just gave me a Renew Corp. card. Then the letters started coming."

"And how long ago was that?"

"About eight months."

Digging into her canvas bag, Sarah found a pen and paper. She took the cap off her pen with her mouth and started writing as she spoke. "Eight months..." When she got back to the office tomorrow, she'd have to check the dates the Wayne Foundation started filing with the court. She felt Ms. McPhee's eyes on her. "Don't worry," Sarah said. "I'm not writing your name down."

Ms. McPhee chuckled. "I'm not worried, dear. I'm too old for that.” She leaned towards Sarah, then, as if she was spilling a secret. “I think those men wanted to scare me. But they just made me mad. Use my name however you want."

Sarah couldn't stop the corner of her mouth from turning up. "I admire your spunk, Ms. McPhee. You're a tough old bird. That's a compliment."

"Well, then, I'll take it as one."

Sarah stretched her arms and leaned forward. "Do you have anymore of those letters, like the one you gave me when we first spoke?"

Nodding, Ms. McPhee stood and left the room. Rising from the couch, Sarah perused the photos on the opposite wall, hanging over the small TV set. She recognized Ms. McPhee, with whom she assumed was her husband. Pictures of Thanksgivings and Christmases with undersized turkeys and tiny trees. Seeing the memories this one family had created in this undersized apartment, knowing how many more people were in this exact same situation, made her more determined to find out what the hell was going on and who was behind it.

Ms. McPhee came back, holding two shoe boxes. "Here. You can have them both."

Taking them from her, Sarah lifted the lid of one and carded through the red envelopes. There must have been close to fifty. "You got all these?" she asked, trying to hide her slight alarm.

"Some are from neighbors. You wouldn't know it, looking at me, but I can be persuasive."

Sarah snorted, remembering their first encounter. "These are very helpful. Thank you. I'll keep in touch, all right?"

Ms. McPhee nodded gratefully.

"Now," Sarah said, closing the box. "Can you tell me where Anderson Avenue is?" She pondered on to say next. Was Arthur her boyfriend? They hadn’t discussed it. But she thought it would seem odd not to know where her boyfriend lived. "I want to visit a friend before I head home."

"What's the address?"

"225a."

Ms. McPhee pointed as she gave directions. "It’s close. When you leave here, go right, then take another right at the corner."

"Thank you," Sarah said.

Passing her, Ms. McPhee opened a kitchen cabinet. "Let me get a bag. You can take some cookies with you."

~~~~~

Stretching her shoulders, Sarah hastened up the sidewalk. The shoe boxes were tucked safely in her bag, making it cumbersome to carry. It felt funny, knowing she'd have to keep evidence, at her apartment. But that was the only way she'd know it was secure. If Matt found the letters, she didn't think he'd kick her out on her ass. There was a good chance he'd shred them, though. That was too big of a risk. Tomorrow, she'd have to invite Patricia over to talk about the bullshit she'd found and, hopefully, enlist her help.

As she approached the courtyard of Arthur’s building, she ran her hand through her hair, then smoothed her pencil skirt with her palm. She wondered if he appreciated pop-ins. It was early Sunday evening and most places were closed, so it seemed unlikely he’d be out. Maybe she was being too impulsive. But it had been nearly two days since she'd seen him. It felt like two weeks. They'd had their nightly phone call, but it wasn’t enough.

After their dinner, she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. For most of the evening, he’d seemed comfortable, needing reassurance only once or twice. The conversation had been enjoyable, even when it got heavy (though he still didn’t talk much about himself), and his company a warm presence. She loved how he'd tenderly held her as they'd danced, with her trying not to step on his feet. And the way his hesitancy had temporarily fallen away when he’d kissed her with what felt like his whole body.

If she was honest, she’d been forcing herself to see him less than she wanted to. Having him around her everyday would have been too much for her to think clearly. And clarity was what she needed. She didn’t want to rush into a fling that would flame out in a week. Their connection had become too important for that.

He’d worked his way into her heart so quickly, faster than she could have predicted. When she was at the office, a sarcastic remark or joke brought him to mind. She would recall the feel of his lips on hers at random. When shopping, she sometimes saw an item he might like, a sweater she thought would actually fit or a fancy lighter, and have to fight the impulse to buy it. She didn’t want to freak him out by showering him with gifts before they were a couple.

She took a deep breath to clear her head as she entered his building, then went to the mail area to find his apartment number. It didn't take long: "P. Fleck, 8J." When she went to the elevator, she paused. It looked rickety. But she had enough reading material if she was stuck for an hour or two. Stepping into it, she pushed the button for the eighth floor. The lift thought it over before closing and starting its slow ascent.

Once she arrived, she went the wrong way down the corridor and had to double back. She laughed at her mistake. At least the extra steps helped build her excitement. When in front of Arthur’s door, she bounced quickly between her toes and her heels, then pressed the buzzer.

"Coming!"

The sound of his soft, raspy voice, the anticipation of knowing he'd be with her in a few seconds... She smiled. As she heard the chain lock being slid over, she bounced again, once, feeling simultaneously ridiculous and perfect.

The door opened quickly and Arthur stood there, a dishtowel over his shoulder. Sarah didn't miss how his gray thermal shirt clung to his torso and arms, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He braced himself against the door, his eyebrows creasing in the middle. "Oh, hey. What are you doing here?"

She stared at him, his slicked-back hair from what she assumed was a recent shower, his eyes piercing hers. It took a moment for her to process his question, and she swallowed before answering. "I was working in the neighborhood and wanted to wish you luck before your show."

"On a Sunday?"

She gave a shrug. "It's unusual, but it happens."

"I thought you'd call," he said.

That wasn't what she'd expected. Ugh, he _had_ been busy. She scrunched up her face. "Am I interrupting you? I wasn't sure if I should just show up. I can go if-"

"No." Arthur shook his head and looked down, sighing. "That's not what I meant."

She saw his shoulders tense as his hand moved to the doorknob, which made a jiggling sound when he fiddled with it. Sarah took a step towards him and leaned against the frame. "I've missed you since Friday."

A smile came across his face, slowly spreading from cheek to cheek. "Really?"

"Really." She dug into her bag, then, and held out the bag of cookies. "The client I was with gave me these. They’re for you and your mother."

Eyes flicking to hers, he took them. "That’s sweet." His hand was so close - he hadn't drawn it back completely.

Sarah pursed her lips, a tad frustrated. He wanted her to touch him - hell, he'd come right out and told her. And she hadn't missed the feel of his erection against her when she’d been in his arms. "May I kiss you?" she asked.

A breath of relief came out of him as he chuckled. "Yeah." The cookies were quickly put on the side table. He leaned into her a bit, his voice lowering. "You don't have to ask, Sarah."

"Good to know," she said, grinning at him. Her bag fell to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck. It only took a second for his right arm to pull her closer, his hand splaying on the small her back. “You don’t have to ask me, either.”

He tilted his head, nuzzling at her cheek before their lips met, his left hand going to her hip. The warmth of his lithe form against her went straight to her core. A low moan left her throat. The way his lips pulled at hers, a bit clumsy but eager, made her arch against him. She could tell he was holding back, causing heat to settle deep in her abdomen.

He tasted of nicotine and coffee, neither of which were particularly pleasant, but were definitely him. The artificial fragrance of the shampoo he'd used smelled like cheap musk, but was nice nonetheless. And she could have sworn he was wearing aftershave. She sighed happily as their lips parted. "Mm. You smell good."

"Thanks," he answered, backing away, his face flushed. He turned his body so she could look into the apartment. "Come in?"

"I'd love to." After stepping through the doorway, she put her bag down next to the side table and hung up her coat. "I can't stay long, though. If you peek in my bag, you'll see paperwork waiting."

He stepped to the kitchen sink. "I was just doing dishes," he said, indicating the dish rack with his hand.

She went to his side as he put his hands in the water, and took the dish towel from his shoulder. "Let me dry." As they worked in tandem, Sarah heard the radio on the windowsill was playing at a low volume. He had been listening to an oldies station. She wondered if he always had music on when doing housework.

Arthur’s expression was content. He looked her way every so often, his dimples showing when he did. "How's your job?” he asked.

"It's fine." She started drying the cutlery, and putting it on the opposite counter, unsure of where it should go. "My boss called yesterday. I have to go to some benefit on Thursday at Wayne Hall. I'm going to have to find something decent to wear."

His response came quicker than expected. "You always look nice."

She blushed. "Thank you." Grabbing a plate, she continued. "I wish I could bring you with me. I hate these things. Thank god there's an open bar.” She scooted a bit closer. “How about you? Have you had any clown gigs?"

His face remained steady. “It's slow this time of year.”

When Sarah put the plate on the counter, a row of prescription bottles caught her eye. They all had Arthur's name on them, and they were mostly empty. A couple of the drug names were familiar to her: Ahenelzine, Diazepam... Those were for depression and anxiety. She'd taken something for depression herself for a time when she was back home. Without that extra help, she wouldn't have been able to deal with being a caretaker.

She flushed, turning away before she could read the rest. Apart from what was on his laminated card and his terrible smoking habit, she'd simply assumed he was healthy, if a bit tired. Maybe he had a thyroid issue - that would help explain his figure, though she adored it. Or perhaps he just needed help dealing with his mother.

Guilt welled in her. His medicine and medical history were none of her business this early on. She wanted to give him that respect. Until there was a problem, if there was a problem, it wouldn't matter. Not unless he wanted to share that part of himself.

But there were quite a few bottles...

Sarah watched him as he washed a bowl, thinking of the isolation he'd described on their first date, his excitement at being able to show her around his city. The happiness she felt when she was around him, even if he constantly second-guessed himself and was often unsure of what to say. The way he’d tried to comfort her when she’d started crying on her couch. Her heart did a little flip.

He was the same Arthur as sixty seconds ago, before she’d spotted the prescriptions. The medication could wait.

"After the show, I was thinking we could get something to eat,” he said, putting a glass in the drying rack.

She sidled up next to him. "I'd love to. Pogo's is in Chinatown, right? Kao Wah is pretty good. It'll be my treat."

He let the water out of the sink, then took the towel from her and dried his hands. "But _I'm_ asking _you_ out.”

She leaned back on the counter, facing him. "Yeah, but it's _your_ night. It can be a congratulatory dinner and a date."

He turned to look straight at her, his hip against the sink's edge. A small smirk was on his mouth as he shook his head. Sarah saw amusement and disbelief in his gaze. With his arms folded over his chest, he still held himself with reservation, even after taking her breath away at the front door.

She took his hand; it was still warm and damp. It opened as she brought it to the dip of her waist. His eyes dropped to her mouth before a bashful smile took over and he looked away from her. He was so hesitant, it felt like he was teasing her. She cleared her throat. "In case I hadn't made it clear earlier, you can touch me, Arthur. I want you t-."

His mouth was on her almost immediately, and groaned softly in this throat as she brought her palm to his chest. She felt his other hand grasp at her side and pull her close, while at the same time he turned to pin her gently against the counter. Giggles bubbled up in her throat as his kisses changed, surprising her when he pressed soft pecks on her cheeks and forehead. He hugged her close, then, and buried his face in her hair, sighing.

As she ran her fingers up and down his back, she closed her eyes. All right. That display had provided _some_ clarity. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "How did I get so lucky to run into you at the store and the donut shop, hm?" she asked, squeezing him tighter. "And on the train?"

Grip loosening, he stepped away, frowning. "You're not the lucky one." He reached for his cigarettes and lighter, which were behind him on the breakfast bar. He rubbed his fingers together, then put a cigarette in his mouth. "I wish I-"

"Happy? Are you home?" a voice from the bedroom sounded.

Arthur plucked the smoke from his lips, putting it on the counter. "Hold on, mom."

Sarah winced. "She won't be upset I'm here, will she?"

Shaking his head, he turned towards the living room. "I just need to help her get up. Give me a couple minutes."

She watched his form until it disappeared into a hallway to the side of the apartment. Stepping further into the it, she checked out the living room. The place would have been something twenty-five years ago. Now it was run-down, but clean and well kept. The plaid wallpaper, stained from cigarette smoke, wasn't one she would have chosen. Her eyes roved over the furniture. A brown notebook was on the coffee table. And the pillow, bed sheet, and blanket on the couch made her brow furrow. Arthur didn't have a bed of his own? How long had he been sleeping on the sofa? At least she'd had a room in Boonville.

It occurred to her, looking around, that apart from an ashtray and some shirts hung haphazardly in the corner, nothing in the apartment said Arthur. Not the ugly cat candle on a nearby bureau, not the paintings on the wall behind the TV, not the wax fruit on the weirdest metal stand she'd ever seen. It was like he was an afterthought in his own home.

Arthur's voice caught her attention. "Here you go."

The sight in front of her was well-known. He guided the older woman to an easy-chair, one arm under her shoulder, the other holding her hand. She looked at Ms. Fleck's face and faded red hair. It was obvious she'd been beautiful when she was younger. Arthur looked nothing like her, but Sarah thought he must have gotten whatever genes made him handsome from her.

Once settled, Ms. Fleck turned to her. "Who's that?"

"She's Sarah, mom. The woman I told you about." He flicked on the TV.

Sarah approached her and crouched down to be at eye-level. "Hi, Ms. Fleck. It's nice to meet you. Arthur's said such nice things about you." She stuck her hand out to the woman and flashed a smile at Arthur. He grinned.

Ms. Fleck didn't respond at first, almost looking through her. Then she lifted her hand and took the one proffered to her. "I never thought my Happy would find a girlfriend. Especially one so pretty." Her lips turned up. "He talked about you, but I don't know where his head is sometimes."

Sarah flinched. Gently, she let go of Ms. Fleck's hand, then rose to stand and look at Arthur.

He looked as if his mother had struck him, standing stock still in front of the TV with his eyes shut. Sarah had never seen him angry before, but his clenched jaw and the fists at his sides made it obvious.

Ms. Fleck spoke again. “Happy, did you check the mail?”

Arthur’s face fell. “There’s no mail on Sundays.” His answer came softly, voice low and trembling.

Sarah reached and took his hand, then guided him back to the kitchen, away from his mother. "Don't listen to her. It's her illness talking," she said. It was an assumption, but it felt right.

He braced himself against the archway as he lit a cigarette, staring at the floor.

Not wanting to cause him pain, but needing to know what was going on, she asked her next question carefully. "Why does she keep calling you 'Happy?'"

Smoke left his mouth and nose as he spoke. "She's always done that. She's always told me to smile and put on a happy face." His shoulders shook as soft laughter escaped him. "I don't want to be angry around you. I'm sorry." The hurt in his eyes betrayed the smile he wore.

"Arthur, stop, stop," she said, bringing her hands to his face. After kissing him firmly, she put her forehead to his cheek. "It's all right." She carded a hand through his now nearly dry hair. "I'm sorry she said that."

He didn't put his arms around her, instead standing stiffly against the wall. "You should go. I know you have work to do." He said it quietly, almost a whisper.

She worried her lip, wishing he would let her comfort him instead of shutting her out. "Do you want to come back with me? Have some space?"

"No," he said. "She hasn't eaten."

"Are you going to be all right?"

"Yeah. I'll give her dinner and she'll want to go back to bed. Murray Franklin isn't on tonight."

Reluctantly, she let go of him. "Okay." He followed her to the door and helped her with her coat. Her throat clenched - he was still being thoughtful, even through his upset. She grabbed her bag and gave him a quick peck. "I'll call you when I get home. I already can't wait to see you. Pogo's at eight?"

Opening the door, he nodded, his eyes darting to hers for only a moment. "Pogo's at eight."


	10. Chapter 10

After the day she'd had, Sarah could use a fucking laugh. She'd been taken off the Wayne Foundation case, and her access to the file had been cut off. She’d been stupid. It had happened after she'd been caught calling the state's tax bureau for copies of the foundation's recent filings. Because it was a non-profit, the filings were public. The goal had been to identify any pass-through entities the foundation funneled money though. She was hoping to find a link to Renew Corp.

The tax bureau closed at 4:00 PM. Matt was supposed to have been out sick. It should have been safe to call from her desk. But as soon as she'd said the words, "1978, 1979, and 1980 filings for the Wayne Foundation, please," he'd rounded the corner, sniffling, looking miserable, and staring at her like a disappointed parent. Her weak smile hadn't cheered him up any.

"I just wanted my briefcase," he'd sighed. At least he'd looked apologetic when he'd requested the file. And he'd been gentle when he told her she'd be put back on the firm's family matters cases. Despite the dissatisfaction that coursed through her, Sarah had been grateful for his understanding. From what she'd heard about other parts of the firm, another lawyer would have likely fired her.

Fortune seemed to be on her side, though. Patricia had the case now, and was open to what she had to say. And her tax record request had gone through. The returns would be in her hands by the end of the week.

Standing in line to get into Pogo's, she wished she could talk to Arthur about it. Just to let off steam. Even though he wouldn't understand the legalese she would end up spouting, her work was an important part of her life. It would have been nice to share that piece of herself with him. But client confidentiality prevented her from saying too much. If she had been able to speak with him about it, he'd probably try to hide his misunderstanding behind a joke or cheer her up with a wisecrack. And the latter would work, whether funny or not.

Her mind drifted to Sunday. The short visit to Arthur's had been what she needed and had started off fun. She enjoyed getting to see more of his life, especially since he rarely let his guard down. She'd suspected he had a low-income, but she hadn't expected his apartment to be so outdated. It hadn't bothered her, but the obvious lack of funds had been what spurred her to pay for their dinner tonight. With the trouble he was having getting clown work, he didn't need to waste his money on her. A flower, a donut, a slice of pie - those would be fine. But nothing expensive. She was happy to treat him and hoped he'd learn to accept her small indulgences.

If only everything hadn't turned sour. Meeting Ms. Fleck had been something she'd been happy to do; she was such a vital part of Arthur's day-to-day. But the words she'd said about him stung. And the casual cruelty in the nickname "Happy" pulled at her. Sarah couldn't conceive of being called that while dealing with care-taking and, apparently, depression. The worst part was that he seemed used to it. She knew he was devoted to taking good care of his mother - he’d told her so. It made the flash of rage she'd seen in his face, that anger that so quickly turned into pain and embarrassment, all the harder to witness.

He'd been distant when she'd called that night, hurt still clear in his voice, his answers brief. When they said their goodbyes, he'd told her, "You're good, Sarah. Too good. You don't belong here. Or with me." His voice had cracked on that last word.

"Don't be silly, Arthur," she'd said, pressing the phone closer to her as though he could feel it. "I'm just a person. And I belong with you as much as anyone else."

A short chuckle had come through the receiver, then, one that made her smile. "I'll try to believe you," he breathed. "Thank you."

Afterward, Sarah had found herself lying in bed, wishing he was there beside her. She wanted to talk with him, run her hands through his hair and over his back until he relaxed into her. Let him know she was there for him. It hadn't taken long for her thoughts to become less chaste. She imagined pulling him onto her body, his wiry frame and handsome face above her, his warm hands on her skin. It made her ache. She'd stroked herself to the thought of him inside her and come with his name on her lips.

Blushing, Sarah sipped at her Tequila Sunrise, now seated at the corner table Arthur had reserved for her. It was on the opposite side of the room from the spotlight, so she knew he would be able to see her. The dim lighting from the red table lamps was nice. She would have thought it romantic if there had been music playing instead of jokes being told. Looking around, she could see the room was full. The energy from the crowd was light; everyone appeared to be having a good time.

When the emcee got up on stage, Sarah sat-up with excitement. "This next comic describes himself as a lifelong Gotham resident-" that had to be Arthur "-who, ‘from a young age, was always told his purpose in life was to bring laughter and joy into this cold, dark world.' Um, okay." The audience laughed and Sarah smiled, shaking her head. His heart was too earnest. "Please help me welcome Arthur Fleck. Arthur Fleck, y'all!"

Arthur entered quickly from the left, smiling nervously. He glanced over in her direction as he walked, and she grinned at him. As he approached the stage, she thought he had tripped, but she might have been wrong, because he kept moving. The confidence with which he shook the emcee's hand impressed her. Once in the spotlight, she could see he had slicked back some of his unruly waves. She liked the combination of white-button up and maroon vest and slacks he had chosen. They looked as though they were part of a suit - leaving the jacket off had been the right choice. Nice but casual. He looked approachable. And Sarah thought he was beautiful.

For a few seconds he stood in front of the microphone, scanning the crowd. She could see the sweat on him and a slight tremble in his face. Then he tried to speak. "Hello..." The word barely came out. Panic crossed his visage for a split second, a snort escaping him. "Hello. It's good to be here-" Cackles started pouring out of him. Much like he did on the train, he clasped a hand over his mouth. His face crumpled, embarrassment clear to see, and he turned away from the audience, bending at the waist.

Sarah watched, horrified, wondering how to best help him.

After a few seconds, he stood back up, took a deep breath, and gave it another go. "I hated-" He coughed and grabbed his shoulder, but continued speaking. "I- I- h- hated school as a kid-" More guffaws burst from his mouth and he covered his face with his arms.

It was as though the harder he fought, the more his condition revolted. As Arthur grabbed his throat and burped, she closed her eyes against the tears that pricked her. The mood in the room had changed to discomfort and confusion. She wanted to go up there and stop this, take him backstage and help him recover.

But she knew she couldn't just do that. He'd told her he'd lived with his condition all his life. She couldn't take away his agency because she was uncomfortable and hurting for him. Watching him struggle split her heart. But he wanted to do this. She had to allow him to do the best he could.

He took another breath and spoke quickly, rushing to get the words out. "I ha- hated school as a- as a kid." The relief on his face after managing to finish that sentence soothed her. "My mother would say," he raised his voice an octave, "'You should enjoy it! One day you'll have to work for a living!'" He paused. "No, I won't, ma. I'm gonna be a comedian!"

Everyone was silent. The meaning of the punchline - being a comedian wasn't work, when Sarah knew how much effort Arthur put into his material - was lost due to the joke's staccato delivery. And the crowd’s uncertainty about how to react. He looked over the audience again. She made sure to smile and give a little wave when he spotted her. Nodding slightly, he gestured towards her with the brown notebook he was holding, then started flipping through it.

Arthur pointed at a spot in the book. "Here's one," he said, then lifted his hand to his chin. "You know, I was just thinking the other day, why are the rich people so confused by poor people?" He stopped, as if waiting for a response. "Because they don’t make any cents!"

A couple spare laughs sounded. Sarah hoped they were reacting to the joke, but it was equally likely they were laughing at him. The comedian reading out of a book. Despite that, she could see Arthur gain confidence as he continued to speak without his affliction interrupting him. After he got going, she enjoyed seeing him up there. The quips were cute, the puns funny. She made it a point to at least smile at every one.

He cleared his throat. "Okay, just one more. Why do some women have names that start with 'S?'" Arthur looked in Sarah's direction. She met his gaze, blushing. "Because they're sweet." When he bowed and said good night, a small giggle escaped him. The audience clapped politely as he stepped off the stage.

A confusing mix of feelings washed over her. Was this his normal set, what he always did? Maybe he knew she liked his corny jokes and kept that in mind. That last one had certainly been directed at her. But the material wasn't something she would have ever expected to hear in a comedy club, even though they were undeniably a reflection of him.

After a few minutes, while she was finishing her drink, Arthur hurried to her table and slid in next to her. "Arthur, hi-"

The kiss he planted on her interrupted her greeting. It surprised and pleased her, and she smiled against his lips. "I'm so glad you came to see me," he said, taking her hand from the table. His long lashes rested on his cheekbones as his lips turned up, a chuckle escaping him when he entwined their fingers. “You’re really here,” he said quietly.

She stroked his cheek. "I wouldn't have missed it." In that moment, all she wanted was to let him bask in the self-assurance being on stage had apparently given him. But she could feel and see the side-eye he was getting from nearby tables. She stood and pulled him up with her. "Let's go celebrate."

~~~~~

Sarah had assumed it was impossible to live in Gotham and to never have had Chinese food, but Arthur didn't know where to begin with Kao Wah's menu. After he asked for suggestions, she quizzed him on his preferences. He said he liked chicken, and he didn't have any interest in duck or pork belly. Vegetables weren't something he seemed to eat a large variety of either, stating simply, "I've mostly eaten canned." They decided on chicken with Chinese vegetables, steamed dumplings, egg rolls, and fried rice. He liked everything but the dumplings, and she was happy to see him dig in. The Tsing-Tao he ordered wasn't his thing, however, so she'd traded and given him her Mai Tai, which was sweeter.

The place was pretty empty, which wasn't unusual for a Tuesday night. Coincidentally, the restaurant had low lighting similar to Pogo's. The round booth they sat in was cozy and made it easy to share. She tried to joke around and teach him to use chopsticks ("Just think of it like...dancing with your hands?"), which had ended up with him shaking his head and using a fork instead ("That doesn't make sense.").

Arthur seemed relaxed for the first time since Sarah had met him. He’d even reached out to hold her hand on the walk to the restaurant. Had having the chance to perform made that big of a difference? Maybe he was finally getting used to her presence and allowing himself to enjoy it. She hoped that was at least part of it.

But, when they were almost done their meal, he became quiet, his answers shortened. He rolled the paper umbrella in his drink between his two fingers and silently puffed on a cigarette. She scooted closer to him, making them only a couple inches apart, and kissed his cheek. "Arthur, what is it?"

Sighing, he lowered his head bashfully. "I'm sorry. I was just… thinking about the show." He turned to her, then, taking her hand in his. "You haven't said much about it." His eyes met hers with caution. And a little hope. “I wanna know what you thought.”

Her brows stitched together as she pondered. She cared too much about him to lie and tell him it had been spectacular, but she wanted to say the right thing. "It wasn't what I expected. That's not a bad thing. I think people didn't know how to respond to your shtick."

The grip on her hand loosened as his eyes narrowed. "What shtick? That was my act."

She put her hand on his arm and rubbed soothingly. "I know, it's just..." She bit her lip. "I think the audience was expecting a narrative or something. Funny stories." Her hand rose to stroke his hair as he turned to glare at the table. "Your jokes are as sweet as you are. I appreciate them because you wrote them. But I think they wanted something raunchy, not you reading out of a book."

"You didn't like it," he said lowly, picking up his fork and pushing around the food left on his plate.

God, she'd hurt him. That was the last thing she'd wanted. She'd only sought to help him improve. Sarah shook her head. "That's not what I said."

He scowled and let out a long breath. "What else could you mean?"

_Fuck_. This conversation wasn't going correctly at all. Sarah tried again, desperately wanting him to understand. "I just mean you'll have to do more shows to make your mark. When someone tries something new, it takes time for it to catch on. For people to respond well."

A huff left him. "People were laughing. I heard them." Closing his eyes, he shook his head. "My condition fucked up the beginning. But I thought I did a good job after that."

"Hey," she said, taking his chin in her hand and forcing him to look at her. "You did. That isn't even a question. I wouldn't have been able to get up there in front of everyone. Or continued if my opening went awry." She kissed him gently. He softened against her, his hands clasping hers. "I laughed. I'm coming to your next show. And I'm proud of you," she said.

A broken hiccup came from his throat at that, and he leaned his forehead against hers. "I wouldn't have gotten through it if you hadn't been there."

He was being uncharacteristically forward tonight. She was grateful for it. And she wanted it to would continue. It would make the conversation she was about to start so much easier…

"Arthur, I need to talk to you." Gently letting go of him, she studied her nails. "I... I haven't been in a relationship for a long while. When I was taking care of my father, I didn't have the energy or time for it. And since moving to Gotham, I've been too busy building a life." She snorted. "When you and I met, I wasn't even looking."

There was some alarm in his eyes when she looked back up at him. Oh no. She hoped he didn't think she was ending things between them. Especially when she was trying to do the exact opposite. "I don't know how to say this." She took a deep breath. There could be no misunderstanding of what she was asking for. Her hand went to his thigh, squeezing gently, and she rushed out her question. "Do you want to come back to my apartment tonight?"

The tension left his face as he stared at her. When he didn't answer, she thought she may have pushed too far, too soon. Though they’d first run into each other about a month ago, it _had_ only been a couple weeks since their first date. But the way his eyes softened and his pupils dilated told her he wasn't offended. With the slight lift of his eyebrows and the small smile on his lips, he looked elated.

His mouth moved but his voice didn't come. Pink colored his cheeks as his hand slowly covered hers, pressing it harder against his leg, and he tried again. " _Yes_."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to @rommies for beta-ing this chapter!

It had been hard to keep their hands off each other after leaving Kao-Wah. (Especially on the train - those nine stops had comprised the longest ride of his life.) When they’d gotten into Sarah’s building, she seemed to stop trying all together. In the semi-privacy of the elevator, Arthur returned her attentions eagerly, grasping at her sides and hips. At this point, those parts of her were familiar, and he could touch them with some confidence. When the elevator came to a stop, she laughed, grabbed his hand, and led him down the hallway towards her apartment.

Once inside, she closed the door, locked it, and shrugged out of her coat. She pulled him to her, then, and put her arms around his shoulders, boosting herself up on her toes to kiss him fully. Bracing himself against the wall with his right hand, he angled his head, trying to imitate the movements her mouth made.

He thought he’d gotten pretty good at kissing, but now he felt clumsy, trying to keep up. _She_ _’s really in a hurry_. As much as he loved her ardor, he was taken aback by it. And intimidated. When the tip of her tongue pressed at his lips, he opened them slightly to allow her access. A groan rose from his chest when she traced the inside of his mouth. Cautiously, he put a hand to the back of her head, holding her while trying to gain some control.

She wiggled out of his grasp. “I have to freshen up,” she whispered, then pecked the tip of his nose. “I’ll be right back.”

He watched her retreating form as she headed to the bathroom. Once the door was shut, he braced himself against the wall separating the living room from the kitchen. _Shit_. What he’d thought about countless times since he’d shaken her hand was about to happen. A nervous laugh forced its way out of him. Holding his breath, he silently begged anyone who might be listening that he’d be spared the humiliation of an outburst while in Sarah’s bed.

He hadn’t thought to pick up condoms - he’d never needed a prophylactic in his life. Maybe she had some? He turned to the couch, his mind racing. Should he sit there and draw her into his lap when she emerged? Was he supposed to wait in her bedroom?

Did she know he was new to this?

Quickly, he took his journal out of the pocket of the jacket he hadn’t yet taken off. He flipped to the notes he made after reviewing all the Dr. Sally segments he had copies of and listening to her radio show. Reading his scrawl was a challenge in the dim light from the windows, so he stood by the glass door. “-Don’t rush.” “-Open communicashun” “-Very posishins” “-Touch the cl-” He slammed the book shut and stuck it back in his pocket when he heard the bathroom door open.

She waited a couple feet from him, raising an eyebrow. “Take off your coat and stay awhile?”

Slowly, he took off his jacket and tossed it on the nearby coffee table. Arthur stilled, unsure of what she wanted him to do next. Then he closed his eyes, unable to force away his growing unease. Would she compare him to her ex-husband or the other men she’d dated? What if he couldn’t satisfy her? What if he came too soon? He squeezed his palms together.

When Sarah took his hands in her own, he managed enough courage to open his eyes. The affection in her gaze wrung his heart. “Arthur,” she said. “If you don’t want to, it’s all right. Please don’t feel pressured.”

Almost as if he feared she’d leave, he grasped her upper arms. “That’s not it.” He felt his cheeks burning as he confessed. “I’ve nev- never done this.” There. It was out.

She blinked at him, confusion on her face. “What?”

He huffed, drawing his brows together. “You’re surprised?”

“Well, yeah.” She placed a hand on his chest and cocked her head. “Why wouldn’t I think some bright, young woman had already gotten her hands on a handsome man like you, Mr. Fleck?”

He shook his head and snorted at her comment. _Because I_ _’m a freak?_ The gleam in her eye told him she meant every kind word, despite her jokey tone. He leaned his forehead against hers as she hugged him. Self-doubt threatened to overcome him. “I don’t wanna fuck up.”

“You won’t.” Pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth, she continued. “Do what you want. If anything doesn’t work, we’ll figure it out.”

How did she manage to say what he needed to hear? He nodded, exhaling sharply. “Okay.”

“And don’t be shy,” she continued. “I won’t be.”

Carefully, he ran his hand through her hair, over her cheekbone, to her chin. When he brought her mouth to his, she tilted her head to give him better access. He leaned into it, wrapping his other arm around her waist, pulling her body to him.

She ground her pelvis against his, making contact with his clothed erection. His breath hitched. His hand went to her hip, squeezing before bringing her against him again. She shuddered and whined against his mouth. Stopping the kiss, he watched, wide-eyed, as her hands went to the front of his vest, sliding the buttons through the holes.

“Come on.” She took his hand and started drawing him to the bedroom. Arthur bit his lip, walking in step beside her. He swallowed hard when she turned on the lamp on the bedside table. When she sat on the bed to remove her shoes, he shut the bedroom door, trying to follow her lead.

It was strange to be in a woman’s bedroom. Or to be in one at all, since he always slept on the couch. It was small, and almost as spartan as the rest of the apartment, but the lamplight softened the room. When he noticed the bed was large enough for both of them, he felt his face warm and looked away. There was a nearby chair. He sat and started untying his shoelaces, slipping his shoes off and putting them neatly by the door. “I, um.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t have a condom.”

“It’s fine,” she said as she rose from the mattress. “I have an IUD.”

That wasn’t a word he knew, but he was relieved - his lack of planning ahead wouldn’t get in the way of whatever was about to go down. Standing, he turned and took off his vest to put it over the back of the chair. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out the best next step.

Sarah came up next to him and hooked her fingers in his belt loops, bringing him to her and smiling. “You make me so happy,” she whispered, before kissing him firmly and resting her head on his shoulder.

His eyes fluttered shut. No one had said that to him before. Well, maybe when he was performing as Carnival. But not when he was himself. “Me, too. I mean, you make me happy, too,” he said, nuzzling at her temple.

She nestled further into him, lips where his jaw met his neck. Taking his hands from his sides, she placed them on the opening of her blouse. “Please touch me,” she said.

A tickle formed in his throat as he nodded. He coughed gently. “Yeah. Okay.” He stepped back from her so he could see what he was doing. His fingers trembled; he stretched them, willing them to calm down. The small buttons gave him trouble - they were damn tiny - and his brow furrowed as he fumbled. He was relieved when she started to help him.

After flicking his eyes to hers, he opened her blouse slightly. When he glanced down, a shivering breath left him. _She wasn_ _’t wearing a bra_. Before he could recover from the shock, she took his hand and pressed it to her breast. The softness of her, the weight of it, the feel of her nipple against his palm… It was better than he’d imagined. He groaned as she pushed her mouth against his. “Sarah, I have to ask you something.”

“Mm. What?” she hummed.

“Did you - Did you plan this?”

The color that appeared on her cheeks was appealing. He’d caught her. “I, uh… I hoped for it?” They both giggled. Some of the anxiety his body was holding left at her admission. He kissed her mouth, firmly enough to feel her teeth. When he felt her nip at his bottom lip, he squeezed her breast, hard. A sharp sound came from her and she broke off the kiss. “Not so rough,” she chuckled.

He started to remove his hand. “Sorry, I-”

She immediately stopped his retreat. “No ‘sorries.’”

Not so rough. All right. He tried again, gentler this time, and she arched into him. The pad of his thumb swiped back and forth against her hardened nipple. Her soft moan emboldened him, and he let his other hand drift down to her chest, brushing her other breast, before coming to rest on her side.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she said, her fingers on the top buttons of his shirt. He moved to help her, unbuttoning the bottom of his shirt. It took him longer than normal, his hands bumping hers.

After peeling the shirt off and putting it on the chair, his eyes drifted to the floor. It wasn’t that he hated his body - he walked around without a shirt all the time when he was home. But he knew how gaunt he was, that his body was nothing like the men’s in the few adult films or magazines he’d seen. And he wasn’t used to getting undressed in front of anyone, other than in the locker room at HaHa’s. He hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed.

Her hand lifted to stroke his chest, and he watched as it continued downward. Her fingertips tracing the line of the bottom of his ribs, her hand flat against the firm plain of his stomach and abdomen. As she palmed his hard-on through his pants, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Is this all right?” she whispered.

“Uh huh.”

She giggled and stroked him a few more times, and he felt himself growing harder, to the point where it hurt. She stepped back to shed her shirt, then nonchalantly slipped her skirt down her legs and stepped out of it, moving towards the bed. Arthur wondered if she wore lace panties all the time, or if they were for him. Trying to follow her example, he unzipped his trousers and took them off.

“Don’t forget your socks,” she said. She peeked at him over her shoulder as she climbed onto the mattress, not bothering to peel the covers back. On her back and boosted up on her elbows, her lips turned up at him. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

He scoffed, standing awkwardly in his briefs, hands clasped in front of him. “You need glasses.”

“I think I see you just fine,” she answered.

A strained laugh escaped his throat. Trying to distract himself, he took a step towards the bed and let his gaze roam her nearly nude form. Her breasts were a little uneven, there were faded stretch marks on the curves of her hips, and she didn’t have a gap between her thighs. She wasn’t as nubile as the women he’d pasted into his journal. But she was beautiful. And real. _And she wanted him to touch her._

The hand she held out to him interrupted his musings. He took it, climbing into bed beside her. “You’re making this easier than I thought it would be,” he said, squeezing her hand. He leaned down to press his forehead to her shoulder before admitting more, blushing. “And I’ve thought about it a lot _._ ”

Her answer was to turn to face him and kiss him deeply, one hand going down his back to squeeze his ass. She threw a leg over his legs and pulled him to her, groaning against his mouth. He rolled forward slightly, bringing her on her back. Holding himself up on his elbow, he looked down at her.

Her eyelids were heavy, and the way she was admiring him made his abdomen tighten. “I’ve been dying to do this since you took me out for pie,” she breathed. The corner of her mouth went up and she stroked his hair, putting a stray lock behind his ear.

With some trepidation, he put his hand on her chest, between her breasts, and dragged them down her torso. He didn’t know how her skin could be so soft - he didn’t want to stop touching it. They both watched as his hand traveled further, tracing lines on her stomach. When he met the top of her underwear, his eyes darted to hers. She licked her lips and nodded.

Arthur continued past the waistband, his fingertips meeting short hair. Slowly, he slid further. He was surprised when her pelvis lifted to meet him, his fingers slipping between her outer lips and into her folds. “God,” he groaned. “You’re wet.”

She moved against his hand again. “What do you expect? That kiss you gave me after dinner has had me going all week.”

He kissed her cheek. He couldn’t believe she was kidding around with him. While they were _in bed_. It made everything so much more comfortable. He furrowed his brow as he concentrated, hand becoming a little bolder. Dr. Sally had described a nub…

Sarah reached to pull her underwear down, kicking it off once it was below her knees. Then she put her hand over his and brought two of his fingers to a raised spot near the top of her vulva. “There.” She moved his fingertips down further. He shuddered when he felt the lips of her opening, the tip of his middle finger slipping in a few millimeters.

His eyes shut, following the back and forth motions she was guiding him through. It wasn’t long before she removed her hand to let him take over, let him try things out. After a few more movements, he dared to look down at what he was doing. He huffed at the sight of her body striving towards him, her slick causing his fingers to glisten. She seemed to have a stronger reaction when he kept his hand higher, so he focused on what he assumed was her clit. Gently, he moved his fingertips in a small circle, groaning at the feel of her against him.

She gasped, “Arthur!”

The cry of his name on her lips snapped something inside him. He removed his hand from her, wiped it on the bed cover, then grabbed her face as he climbed on top of her. His kiss was urgent, unpracticed, hungry, and he rutted against her with a grunt.

Her hands moved down his back, to his sides. She pulled at the waistband of his underwear. The temporary confidence and urgency started to slip away from him. “Are you sure you want this? With _me?_ _”_ he asked. If she ended up regretting being with him, letting him touch her, he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Sarah smiled up at him, stroking the lines of muscles leading to his groin with her thumbs. “I’m as sure of you as I am that water is wet.”

Relief ran through him at her answer, and he smiled as he closed his eyes. _She wants me. How is it possible she wants me?_ _God, I need her._

Oblivious to his internal monologue, she started yanking his briefs down over his hips. He boosted himself up, trying to help her. The impatience on her face made his heart leap and his face flush. When his underwear was low enough, she put her foot between his calves and pushed them off, helping him wiggle out of them.

He held himself still, up on his elbows, staring at a spot on the pillow next to her head as she looked down at him. Was she comparing him as he’d feared? Was the size alright? Did she mind he was cut? He slowly brought his gaze to hers. Her eyes were hooded, and she licked her lips. Tugging softly at the coarse hair there, she grinned. “What do you like?” she asked, curling her hand around his erection. She swiped her thumb across the head and nuzzled at his cheek.

Groaning, he jerked forward into her touch. It was remarkably better than anything he did with his own hand. After a few moments, he was finally able to answer coherently. “I dunno. What you’re doing now?” She continued to stroke him, sometimes gently squeezing, moving up and down his length. He glimpsed down to see her fingers wrapped around him and he moaned quietly. It took concentration for him to reach down and stop her, fearing he’d come too quickly and make a mess all over her hand.

“We’ll figure it out later,” she answered, kissing his high cheekbone.

 _Later? There_ _’ll be a later._ He prayed there were many laters.

Her hand moved to join the other on his hips, her thumbs stroking them as she arranged herself under him. Her labia came into contact with his cock and he grunted, thrusting against her ungainly. She cried out, so he repeated the motion. Her hands kept a hold of his sides, trying to help him find a rhythm that worked for both of them. Once it was found, her cries grew louder, higher. “Arthur-” she whispered, then pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin, opening her thighs further as she ground against his shaft. “I need you inside me.”

He shuddered. “Okay.” She reached between them and held herself open. Taking his erection in his hand, he pressed the tip of his cock against her. But he couldn’t move forward, hitting slick skin. She adjusted her hips slightly and took him in her hand, guiding the head inside of her before allowing him to take control.

A jolt went through him when he entered her, the sensation of her walls surrounding him overwhelming. He had to focus to stop himself from plowing into her. _Don_ _’t rush. Don’t rush._ He halted, trembling, and tried to calm himself with breathing exercises he knew. _In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the-_

“Are you all right?” she asked, her hand smoothing his hair back.

“Yeah,” he answered.

She kissed him, her other hand pressing the small of his back. “You can keep going.” Her leg wrapping around him emphasized her words.

He gasped, holding himself up on his elbows. He pushed forward, inching into her heat. She seemed to be getting wetter and was _so tight._ When the last centimeter of him was pressed into her, when he was buried to the hilt, he sighed. “Oh my god…” He held still for a few moments before pulling out an inch or two, and pushing back in. “You feel so good.”

She moaned, her hands clinging to his back, arching up to meet him. “Don’t stop.”

Once he got used to their languid movements, he did his best to balance himself on his left elbow so his right hand could grasp her breast, thumbing her nipple as he’d done earlier. She whimpered in his mouth, the leg around him coming to his waist and tightening. She surprised him, then, and reached back behind her to anchor herself onto the headboard, the motions of her pelvis becoming harder and demanding. “Faster,” she keened. “Please…” He scoffed, momentarily unable to believe this was happening to him.

Her head was tilted back, her eyebrows knit together, her mouth gaping as pants escaped it and hit his face. He boosted himself up on his knees and increased his speed, soft grunts escaping him every time he plunged into her. He watched in fascination as she snaked a hand down between them to touch herself, seemingly in the same place he’d been stroking earlier. Her fingertips brushed against him faintly and he screwed his eyes shut. With every thrust, Sarah’s voice rose, her body tensing…

Her muscles clenched around him as a sharp wail burst from her throat, and he pitched forward, his right hand moving to catch himself before he fell onto her. Nothing he’d seen, read, or heard had talked about _that_ happening. It felt like her body was gripping at him, trying to keep him inside her. He found it hard to keep moving.

After a few moments, Sarah opened her eyes and admired him, cheeks red. She released a long breath and giggled. Her hands traveled down his body, caressing his back, then grasped his ass, pulling him further into her.

“Sarah, fuck…” When he had done this alone, all he’d wanted was to finish. Now he was filled with the need to touch and taste her, to make it last as long as he could. But the pressure building in him was driving him to go faster, deeper…

Her hands were all over him, her soft cries encouraging him in his ear. His eyes shut, feeling the familiar tightness in his abdomen as his movements became rougher, stuttering, snapping into her. One last thrust, no two, and he stiffened as pleasure shot through him, a broken moan on his lips. He clutched her desperately, his hips locking with hers as he emptied himself into her. A sob escaped him when he collapsed on top of her, gasping, trying to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his ears.

He rested on top her, laying his head on the pillow next to hers, facing her cheek. For one moment, everything was perfect and he was able to forget how broken he was. He brought his forehead to her temple and nuzzled at her face. The hand stroking up and down his back, the fingers combing through his hair, reminded him this wasn’t one of his fantasies. He smiled. Absentmindedly, he caressed her hip and closed his eyes.

Once a few minutes had passed, she spoke. “Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“You’re heavier than you look.” She kissed his shoulder. “And I have to pee,” she whispered.

Chuckling, he rolled off her, leaving the warmth of her body to get under the comforter. She got up, grabbed a robe from her closet, and scurried out of the room, promising to be right back. Arthur lay there, staring at the ceiling. He let out a gentle laugh, which turned to a hum as he smoothed back his hair with both hands. A post-coital cigarette would have been nice, the way he’d seen in movies, but he didn’t want to leave the warmth of Sarah’s bed to stand on her fire escape. He could smoke later.

When she didn’t return after a couple minutes, he started to feel self-conscious. His brow furrowed. Shouldn’t she be back by now? He worried his bottom lip and shook his head. Maybe she’d realized this was a mistake. He hadn’t done a good job. She was waiting for him to leave.

She’d just needed to get off and he’d been convenient.

Angrily, he pushed the heels of his hands against his forehead. The mood swings and thoughts had gotten worse since he’d taken the last of his medication two days ago. He sighed. Why couldn’t he just lay there and be fucking happy? He deserved that as much as anyone, didn’t he? No, he thought to himself. _I don_ _’t deserve anything._

He needed to write in his journal.

As the bedroom door opened, relief filled him and he lowered his hands, sitting up and crossing his legs under the cover. Sarah had a mug in her hand, offering it as she sat next to him. “I thought we could use a drink.”

Before taking the mug from her, he placed his hands on her face, and kissed her firmly. “Thank you. For tonight.” Then he tried the drink. It tasted funny, a bit earthy. “What is this?”

“Chamomile. It’s good before bed.” When he took another mouthful and grimaced slightly, she snorted. “But if you hate it, you don’t have to drink it.”

“No, it’s fine.”

She shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. “And you don’t have to thank me. If anything,” she averted her eyes sheepishly. “I should have focused more on you. It being your first time.”

He lifted her chin and kissed her again, nudging her nose with his. “I didn’t mind.” Leaning back against the headboard, he stretched his legs, flexing his toes. Without the pressing need to come, he felt his bashfulness returning. He decided to ask her before he became too cautious. “How - how was it?”

She slipped under the cover next to him. “You were great.” He blushed with pride, his eyes tracing the flowery pattern on the comforter. “In fact,” she said, ”if I didn’t know better, I’d say you told me it was your first time to be more impressive.” She tapped her chin in mock suspicion.

Arthur scoffed, a soft grin on his lips. He was pretty sure she was just being nice. He ate it up all the same. “You’ll have to thank Dr. Sally for that. I listen to her show.”

“I’ll write her a thank-you card tomorrow.” Her hand reached under the comforter and stroked his abdomen, then moved to caress the top of his thigh. He shivered. “Arthur, I know your mother’s home alone, but…” Her eyes met his, brows raised. “Can you stay?”

He blinked at her. She must have meant overnight. He let out a breath. Trying to sleep in a bed instead of being cramped up on his sofa? Next to her? “Yeah.” The smile she gave him in return caused his throat to tighten. He kissed her sweetly, hoping she wouldn’t notice.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, special thanks to @rommies for beta-ing this chapter!

Sarah had to do a double-take at the clock when she woke up: 3:40 AM. Normally she stirred around six. Regardless of the early hour, she couldn't stop a wide smile from breaking out across her face. Even if it meant she'd be a little hazy at work, she wouldn't mind having a couple extra hours with Arthur. She rolled over and stretched, reaching out to his side of the bed. It was empty, but his warmth lingered. Closing her eyes and moving to snuggle into his pillow, she thought of his mouth against her neck, the heady feeling of his lithe, surprisingly powerful body rutting into her, his startled look after she'd come. She giggled, hoping he'd hurry back for a second round.

It occurred to her that it'd been a bit foolhardy to sleep with him already. But about eighty-seven percent of her knew she had already fallen for him. That wouldn't have changed if she'd put off propositioning him for another couple of weeks. However, she wasn't sure she would have pressed so soon if she'd known she'd be his first. He'd been so nervous at the beginning - she'd almost felt predatory, with him standing there in his jacket, looking uncomfortable. But once he'd assured her that he wanted it, wanted _her_ , as much as she desired him, she thought it had been wonderful.

But she was left with questions, all of which were related to the same theme. He'd briefly mentioned his acute loneliness during some of their calls - how on earth could he have been alone his whole life? What had happened? There were ten million people in Gotham - surely he must have been noticed by someone. It didn't make sense.

When they'd lain together in the dark, her head next to his, her fingers playing with the sparse hair on his chest, she'd tried to find out. "I really don't understand," she'd said. "I would have snapped you up if I found you a decade ago. Were you hiding from your mother in some dark Gotham subway tunnel?" she'd teased. When she'd sensed his discomfort, she tickled his ribs gently.

He'd snorted and stopped her hand, placed it flat against his stomach. "No." It was silent for a few minutes, then he'd turned to her, boosted up on his arm. In the dim light from the windows, she could see uncertainty in his eyes. "Is it a problem?"

"Not in the slightest." She’d stroked his hair, now completely loose from the gel he’d used to slick it back. "I just want to know you."

Arthur had nodded and let out a soft hum. His voice was tinged with sadness when he finally answered. "Stop worrying about me." The kiss he'd pressed to her forehead had been faint. "Go to sleep. You have work tomorrow." She'd narrowed her eyes at him before agreeing, rolling over and drifting off with his chest against her back, his arm around her waist.

Sitting up, Sarah looked at the clock again. It was just past four and he still hadn't returned. Maybe his bashfulness had gotten the best of him and he'd gone home. She turned on the bedside lamp and looked at the chair. A breath of relief came when she saw his clothes were still there. She got up, grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed, and tied it around herself as she made her way to the bedroom door. Slowly, she cracked it open and peered out.

Arthur was seated on her couch, leaning forward, writing in his joke book. He'd put the lamp on, so she could see him clearly in the soft light. He was muttering to himself as he wrote, words she couldn't make out. A quiet chuckle escaped him; she assumed he was practicing the delivery of his jokes.

Every few seconds he stopped, sometimes putting the pen down, other times fiddling with a piece of his hair before writing again. His cigarettes and lighter were out, but she didn't smell any smoke. That meant he must have been on the fire escape, even though he was only in his trousers, it was the middle of the night, and freezing outside. She smiled at the sight of his toes wiggling in his white socks.

During a particularly long pause, when he looked pensive, she stepped out and towards him. He didn't seem to notice her at first. But when she got closer, he quickly shut the notebook and looked up at her, eyes wide. He cleared his throat and tried to smooth his hair. "Hi."

She sat next to him on the couch and kissed his cheek. "Hi. Working on new material for next time?"

Slowly, he sat back against the cushions. But he didn't turn to her. "Something like that."

Her hand reached to lay on his abdomen, gently stroking the firm muscle there. "When did you wake up?"

"I didn't sleep."

She could tell the usual tension he held in his body had returned. Trying to ease it, she bent her head to his shoulder. "It's hard to sleep in a new place." She let her eyes fall to the notebook. It was close enough for her to read the cover:

_City of Gotham Department of Health_   
_Case no. 064823_   
_Therapist: Dr. Kane_   
_Patient: Fleck, Arthur_

She swallowed. Having a case and therapist assigned at the Department of Health meant he'd had problems in the past. That he'd posed a risk to someone else or, more likely, himself. And he'd either been distrusted or too poor to get help on his own. Given his apartment, the nature of his job, and his disabled mother, she assumed it was the second option. But she couldn't ascertain how long ago whatever happened happened. It could have been years. Or months.

His knees started to bounce, and she watched as he started to chew his thumbnail. She nestled against his jaw. "You can talk to me. I'm not planning on going anywhere."

They sat in silence for awhile before Sarah backed away and rested on her legs, looking at his profile. His brows were pinched together, and a glower was on his face. He appeared to be focused on his lap. When she traced his smile line, his skin twitched. "Why did you invite me here?" Arthur breathed.

She flinched. "What?" Frowning, she lowered her hand. "How can you-"

"What is this?" He continued. "I'm a party clown. I live with my mother. I don't even understand what your job is."

The hurt that had initially flashed through her faded as she understood. His ever present self-doubt was back. Her words were spoken kindly but firmly. "I lived with my father when I cared for him. And no, I never would have thought to hire a party clown. I still wouldn't - unless it was you. And, yes, I have a good job and education. They're important to me, but they’re not everything."

A bitter huff left him. "I've lost every job I've ever had. No matter how hard I try to do good, I fuck up." He rubbed his face and sighed. "I'm gonna fuck this up, too."

She scooted closer, kneeling next to him so she could try to pull him into her arms. He remained stiff, apart from nudging his forehead against her when she kissed it.

"I know you saw my medications when you came over." His tone was soft, full of trepidation. "I can imagine what you must think."

"That you take medication." Even as she said it, Sarah knew the answer was too easy, especially with his notebook sitting right there. But, for the moment, she needed it to be. And she thought he needed it, too. "I took medication for a little while. I would have lost it if I hadn't." She winced, remembering all the times she'd failed and how poorly she'd handled the end stages of care giving. She gestured to the joke book. "You're obviously trying. You're driven to follow your crazy, amazing dream of being a comedian. You care for your mother. You do fucking housework."

That got a snort out of him, but he sniffled and wiped his nose nervously. "They weren’t just for my condition." The way his voice trembled made her stomach ache. His hand followed the edge of her coffee table as he bent forward, elbows on his knees. "They were for... Because..." He closed his eyes and laughed softly, shaking his head.

Sarah started caressing his oddly jutting shoulder blade, her touch running down his spine. Her palm lay flat against his ribs. His heart was pounding, and she could feel the slight tremor in his frame as his breath hitched. "Arthur," she started, wanting to protect him, and, if she was honest, part of herself. "Tell me when you're ready. Not because you're afraid of my reaction when I find out." She kissed the top of his bicep. "I trust you," she said.

Even with her reassurance, he was still radiating anxiety minutes later. She nudged his side. “I think we’ve reached some sort of milestone,” she quipped, hoping to see his dimples again. “We’ve both gotten emotional on my sofa. In record time.”

At that, Arthur chuckled and started to relax, eventually leaning back against the arm of the couch and pulling her to him. She snuggled deeper into his embrace, nuzzling his face. "Sarah,” he said, his voice soft and raspy, “until a little while ago, it was like no one ever saw me." His eyes shut as he scoffed. "Even I didn't know if I really existed."

"You do," she said firmly, squeezing him tight around the middle. "You do."

"I do," he confirmed, pulling back to look at her. She smiled as his thumb traced her bottom lip. "You're the best thing in my life. The only good thing. I..."

Sarah froze for a split second, and was glad he didn't seem to notice. Being put on a pedestal was the last thing she wanted.

Though, she thought, he was one of the best things to happen to her, too.

"I'm just me, Arthur. I'm nothing special. And that's fine. I'm good with that."

He looked bewildered. "Why do you keep saying that? You're wrong."

"Psh. You haven't known me long enough." She smirked at him. "I'm eventually going to pester you to the point where you'll answer any questions with a grunt until I leave the room."

He leaned into her. "That won’t happen,” he said before his mouth met hers. It started off tender, but soon it turned hard, his lips groping at her. When he broke their connection, resting his forehead on hers, she noticed how labored his breathing had become. Groaning, he bent to kiss her again, tilting his head as his tongue pressed against her.

Despite his messy eagerness, and perhaps because of it, Sarah’s core started to ache. The memory of him inside her, stretching and searing her with his generous girth, was enough to prompt a whimper. She pulled him to her as she lay down. He followed, hands moving next to her head to hold himself up.

Admiring the toned, slender musculature of his thin frame, she stroked down his chest and over his stomach. When she traced the line of faint hair leading to his groin, he moaned in her mouth. God, he was making her wet again already. “I want you,” she purred, reaching to unbutton his pants.

Gently, Arthur caught her wrist. “Um.” He winced and looked away from her. “I need another hour or two. I’m - I’m sorry.”

The embarrassment on his face tugged at her. They weren’t teenagers. And when she’d taken _one_ medication, her sex drive had gone dormant. Hell, it could happen to anyone. She kissed his temple and resumed her caresses, smiling at him. “It’s all right. Should I take a long lunch break and stop by your apartment?” Her voice dropped. “I promise I can be quiet.”

“No, but…” He swallowed, his eyes flicking to hers. “I don’t know how to ask this.” A blush crossed his face as he moved to kneel in front of her on the floor. He pulled her to him, holding her against his chest. When his mouth met hers, it was hot, bolder than she’d expected.

The bottom of her robe hitched up around her waist as she opened her legs, allowing him to pull her flush against him. Her hips jerked, feeling how close his abdomen was to her vulva. “Arthur, don’t be so damn polite,” she breathed. “God, you make me so horny.” She laughed at herself as she said it. It had been a long time since someone had inspired her to be brazen - it was fun.

“Do I?” he answered playfully, mildly surprising her, as his lips trailed to her neck. He reached for the tie of her robe and pulled slowly, his voice lowering, a little more serious. “How?”

Sarah arched into his hands when he tenderly palmed her breasts, kisses ghosting against her sternum. “By being you.” Her fingertips followed the diagonal lines of muscle starting under his arms, around to his back. The heat of his skin sunk into her. “And it doesn’t hurt that you’re beautiful.”

“Sure,” he said sarcastically, kissing the underside of her breast.

As his lips went lower, across her stomach, she dragged her thumb over his dark brow. “You are.”

When his mouth traversed her abdomen and pressed above her pubic bone, she realized where he was headed. She let out a shuddering breath and stilled, heat pooling in her throbbing center. He stopped, his eyes closed. After a few seconds, she stroked back his hair. “Arthur, you don’t have to-”

“Do you want me to stop?” he interrupted quietly.

“Definitely not.” She giggled. “I’m just surprised you want to do that already.”

“Already?” he scoffed. He looked up at her. The shy determination in his eyes stole her breath. His grip on the outside of her thighs tightened. “I’ve- I’ve wanted you since you saw me at the donut shop.” The bridge of his nose pressed against her hip. “After you touched me. And I knew I didn’t make you up,” he murmured.

That admission, that he’d pined for her after two brief interactions, would have alarmed her if she didn’t know him. Now it made her shiver. Her fingers grazed the plains of his handsome face, sweeping over his cheekbone. It marveled her how he could be simultaneously heartbreaking and arousing.

His left hand moved to her inner thigh and slowly pushed it, spreading her legs further. When he lifted his head to look at her, it stunned her. Then she dared to look, too. Her folds were glistening and swollen, engorged to the point where the hood was peeking out from her labia, and she could see a hint of the edges of her inner lips. She jumped lightly when he opened her with his thumbs, his damp breath hitting her.

A man had never just stared at her before. It was starting to make her uncharacteristically self-conscious. She squirmed a bit. She was about to open her mouth and, probably, ruin the moment when he pressed a kiss to her sex.

Automatically, her hips rolled towards his mouth, her legs twitching. The round tip of his nose brushed against her bundle of nerves as he nuzzled against her. Quickly, he parted his lips and pressed his tongue against her opening, then dragged it up to her sensitive nub. “Arth-Arthur…” The need in her own voice surprised her. At the cry of his name he exhaled sharply, and his hands went back to her thighs, holding them open.

She was trying to control her reactions. As far as she knew, he hadn’t done this before (though judging by how he was doing, he must have at least read up on it). She didn’t want to buck into his face and freak him out. But it was getting harder for her to concentrate on holding back. When they’d started, the tightly wound string inside her had already been on the verge of snapping. As the tip of his tongue swept against her clit, her hand went to his hair, holding gently. Her other went his shoulder and squeezed.

“Fuck, there,” she gasped. His lips were stroking her clitoral hood the way they would seek out her mouth. Leaning back against the sofa cushions, she thrust up against him carefully, pleasure spiking through her. One foot was planted on the floor, while she tried to brace the other on the coffee table. But the table lurched forward unexpectedly and she lost her grip on it, causing her leg to fall onto Arthur’s back.

He let out a slight “oof” and pushed his forehead against her abdomen, chuckling as he shrugged off her leg. “I’m trying to concentrate,” he said, amused.

“Sorry!” In the next second, his tongue was back on her, and her laughter turned to a moan. “Oh, god,” she breathed. He groaned against her, then, and the vibration caused her to roll up harder against him. She thought he must he liked it, because his strong hands went to her hips, pulling her tighter to him.

Gazing down at him, she brushed his loose curls out of his face. The sight of his mouth on her, his jaw moving, his lips and tongue working, forced a whine out of her. He must have felt her stare, because he opened his eyes and met hers, just for a moment. A flush rose up his neck and spread to his face, which charmed her. How could her looking at him cause that reaction when he was laving at her the way he was - and obviously enjoying it? His eyelids shut as he picked-up speed.

He became bolder as his tongue quickened, his lips closing over her hardened clit and gently sucking. Unable to hold herself up any longer, she let her head fall back. Her other hand joined the one in his hair, holding him to her as her hips moved faster, seeking contact. Her whole body was tightening as her movements started stuttering, her cries getting louder and more unintelligible as he licked and sucked her off.

The tension inside her finally broke as she came, pulsing against his mouth. Warmth spread through her as she curled up towards him, her arms coming around his head and shoulders. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. Her breathing stopped every few seconds, followed by deep gasps as she tried to gulp air into her lungs. Arthur was still between her legs, tonguing at her. She had to push him back when it started to hurt.

She saw him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand before he rose and embraced her, holding her to him as she quivered. His lips were on her breasts and neck before pressing, hard, against her mouth. She hissed as he thrust his abdomen against her, pinching her brows together as he ground against her clit. When she steadied her breath and opened her eyes and gazed up at him, he looked pleased. And a little smug. She liked that on him for a change.

Her hands cupped his face, bringing him to her, and she kissed him deeply. “Arthur… God.”

His palm went to her chest, over her heart. “Are you all right?” The corner of his lip went up. “Are you gonna have a heart attack?”

“It’d be worth it.” Thrilled, she leaned her forehead against him. “Should I add this to Dr. Sally’s thank you card?”

Making a non-committal hum, he wrapped his arms around her waist and laid his head on her shoulder. His eyelashes tickled her neck as his eyes fluttered shut.

It was quiet then. The intense rush of emotions she felt, holding him to her, was unexpected. Especially after the easy comfort of last night. She closed her eyes and kissed the top of his head, then rubbed her cheek against it. In this instant, she didn’t have to worry about his troubles or his past. He seemed happy and at peace _._ Her heart was full. She wrapped her legs around him, trying to extend the moment to forever.

Of course, it didn’t work. Arthur’s voice was soft when he spoke. “I- I should go home. I need to be there before my mother wakes up.”

She bit her lip and nodded. It was obvious he felt bad about leaving. “It’s all right. I understand.” She tightened her thighs’ grip on him before letting him go, though, and smiled when he lifted his head. “I’m having Patricia - a colleague - over tonight. I can call you when she leaves.” His eyebrow lifted. “Then you can come by and I can return the favor,” she said, swatting his bottom lightly.

Blushing, he ducked his head bashfully. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll head over as soon as I hear your voice.” Then he pushed his mouth to hers.


	13. Chapter 13

The train line to Arthur's apartment wasn't yet running when he left Sarah's place. He had to walk home, which he didn’t mind. The cold air helped clear his head as he went, smoking all the way. There weren't many people on the streets this early. A newspaper stand owner was readying his shop. A few homeless people were on steps, wrapped up and trying to keep warm. Some construction workers were walking by, carrying signs.

Arthur looked at every single one of them as he passed. Could they finally see him? Did they know what had happened? Was Gotham able to tell his life had been turned on its head in the past twenty-four hours?

He giggled lightly. _I got laid._ No. Even as that phrase came to him, it felt crude, wrong. He was ashamed he'd even thought of it. Almost a week ago, Gary had told him to be a gentleman - a gentleman would never say something like that. But he didn’t know how he was supposed to think about what had occurred. He speculated as to whether he'd merely fucked Sarah or made love to her. Slight panic filled him as he realized he needed it to be the latter.

As Arthur passed by, he stopped in front of the grocery where he'd first run into her. It wasn't open yet. But he wanted to relive the experience. His eyelids shut as he remembered the small talk she’d made, her stare, her quiet “night.” Those small gestures, which had seemed natural and easy for her, had started a pattern that captured him. And he didn't want to be let loose.

When he reached the foreboding stairs that led to his home, he sighed and surveyed them. Every time he trudged up them it was a choice. A choice to not give into the negative thoughts and anger that plagued him. This morning, thinking of Sarah, imagining she would be at his apartment waiting to greet him with a kiss, made ascending the concrete a little easier.

When he got home, he followed his usual routine of getting into his house clothes, putting his laundry in the hamper, and checking on Penny. Thankfully, she was still asleep. Before sitting down at the breakfast bar with his journal, he grabbed a cookie (one of the chocolate chip Sarah had brought over) and a short glass of milk. Once situated, he opened the notebook to what he had been writing at her apartment, pondering.

When he had been in his early twenties, he'd kissed a girl, once. She'd been a co-worker at one of his gigs. It had been an impulsive act and nothing ever came of it. But he'd held onto that memory for years, until he'd understood no woman would ever have an interest in him. He'd tried, and failed, to shield himself by not hoping.

Kissing Sarah was different. She said he made her happy, claimed he turned her on. She'd been unbelievably responsive to his touch. And the way she’d begged him to fill her... _"Arthur...I need you inside me."_ Goosebumps broke out at his recollections. He was thankful for the guidance she’d given him. It had been enough for him to feel like a participant instead of the novice he was.

Later, the sensation of her throbbing against his mouth when she came, knowing he had done that to her, had been one of the only times he had ever felt powerful. They'd both gotten up off her couch a little shakily. She'd still looked blissful and somewhat dazed. He smiled as he remembered how her lips had pulled at him, then parted as she moaned. ("She was so noisie! I can never bring her over. Penny woud heer everything.") He still couldn’t fathom how she hadn't minded when his cock chose not to cooperate. And that she’d asked him to come over again - _tonight!_

She’d offered the use of her shower, and he’d gladly accepted. As he'd watched her pick out towels for him, standing there in her bathrobe and bare feet, he'd been unable to speak. She must have noticed, because she'd kissed his nose and asked if he was all right. He'd nodded.

He'd had to use her shampoo, resulting in his hair smelling like strawberries. Vaguely, he wondered if he smelled like a woman. But he decided he didn't care - the scent kept her closer. He'd wanted to shave, but she only had a wet razor hanging on the shower wall. Since his most recent release from Arkham, he'd used an electric shaver. The therapist and doctor there had advised him not to keep other types of razors in his apartment. Blinking, he’d turned away from it, deciding to shave at home.

After getting dressed and leaving the bathroom, Arthur had found Sarah in the kitchen. She'd put coffee on and two mugs were on the counter. It was a snapshot of domesticity he never thought he'd get to experience in his wretched life. They'd stood together in front of the stove while she made toast and burned scrambled eggs. He was proud of himself for having taken only five or so seconds to put his arm around her back at the waist. Then he’d tried to distract himself from wondering if it was all right by sipping his drink.

She’d leaned into him with her hip, looked up, and said, “I never noticed your sideburns before.” She’d rubbed at one gently, then moved her hand to his chin and pulled him to her for a quick peck. “They’re cute.” He hadn’t said anything in response to the sudden compliment, still suspicious of the idea that a woman, even Sarah, could find any part of him “cute.” Averted eyes and a slight, toothy grin had been all he’d managed.

When she’d served breakfast, he hadn't had the heart to tell her he wasn't hungry. He’d enjoyed the raspberry jam on his toast - he usually only bought grape, it being the cheapest option. And even though the eggs were terrible, he’d smothered them with ketchup and eaten them. She'd been talking the entire time, telling him about her upcoming day and asking about his. But he'd only half heard her. He was too busy trying to figure out how he was ever going to interact with her normally after all this.

His eyebrows pinched. Even before his first breakdown, connections had been impossible for him to make, and Arkham hadn’t exactly been a place to seek warmth. For so many years, he'd yearned for someone, to matter to that person and know what it was to love them. He was at a loss as to what to do now that he had it. If he had it.

Changing the context of how he thought of himself to include not only mentally ill loner but also potential romantic partner, would be a mindfuck. He wasn’t sure he was up to the task. And he knew he had nothing to offer besides his problems and his heart, whatever that was worth. He hoped it would be sufficient.

Holding his pen, he bit his lip. He wouldn't be able to take back the words once they were out. Carefully, writing as clearly as he could, he let the ink touch the paper. "I think I love Sarah. Shud I tell her? What if its to soon? I don't want her to be upset." Staring at what he'd written, Arthur let out a long breath and lit a cigarette. Then, smiling, he put his head down as his eyes welled up. He wiped at them hastily.

He had left Sarah’s apartment reluctantly. Even after her invitation, he felt as though stepping out her front door would wake him up from a dream he’d never return to. The solid feeling of her lips on his, her tongue teasing his mouth for entry when they'd kissed goodbye, helped assure him there'd be more. Part of him had wanted to tell her he loved her, like he'd just written in his notebook. It would have been nice to experience saying it to someone. But he'd forced himself to hold back. That was a vulnerability he couldn’t allow. Not yet. But he hoped she'd been able to see it in his eyes and feel it in how he'd touched her.

As he took a drag off his cigarette, he crossed out the word "think" and replaced it with "kno."

Arthur had come dangerously close to confessing everything to her. It would have been a relief to get it out the way. To have her end it if she decided he was too much of a mess to take on, which he assumed was likely. But he hadn't been able to go through with it. And the permission she'd given him to keep his secrets, even though she'd told him she wanted to know him, had been confusing. Now he wasn't sure how much she actually wanted to learn.

_But she kept asking so many questions._

He didn't know what he was obligated to tell her. That one of the few times Penny had paid attention was when he'd been hitting his head against the shower wall? That she’d had him committed more than once? He wasn't upset with Penny for that - he was grateful she’d momentarily cared enough to stop him from hurting himself. But on many days he wondered why. Arthur Fleck was a meaningless speck. Born to be put upon and feel bad while trying to take care of his mother and deal with whatever other shit life decided to throw at him.

Taking a deep breath to quell his mind, his eyes shut. Sitting there all day, counting down the minutes until Sarah touched him again, wasn't going to help. There was vacuuming that needed to be done. The bathroom had to be cleaned. And he needed to start his day so he could go out and find a job.

He'd cut back on groceries, changing from seltzer to tap water, buying white instead of wheat bread, getting TV dinners that were marked down because they were close to expiring. But it was still difficult to maintain his meager savings. Maybe he could pick up a spare shift at Amusement Mile. It was the off season, but there had to be work to do.

He wrote another line in his journal before closing it: “Gotta work on more jokes. No time to waste."

After getting up from the breakfast bar, Arthur padded into the kitchen to start Penny's Farina porridge. Still pretty full from Sarah's delightfully awful cooking, he started making Penny an extra portion. He felt a twinge of remorse for having left her alone all night. He knew he was all she had. Until four weeks ago, she'd been all he'd had, too.

Once he was in the bedroom, he opened the window shade and sat in the chair next to her. He studied her face before reaching out, wondering if she would be proud of him if she knew what had happened. Then he peeled the blanket back and touched her hand. "Mom, come on,” he said gently. “It's time to wake up." 

Her eyelids started to flutter; she eventually focused on him. "Happy."

He gulped, concentrating on her face. _Ask how I am. I finally have something good to say. I did my act! I'm in love!_ He was sure he looked as desperate as he felt. _Please notice me_ _…_

It took her a few seconds to sit up. "Happy, I wrote a new letter. It's on the coffee table."

Sighing, he turned to look out the window. "Okay." After nodding to himself, he stood and helped her out of bed, lifting her light frame gently until she was stably on her feet.

As he guided her to the living room, she spoke. "You smell like perfume."

He smiled, the hurt in his chest softening a bit. "That's because I was with Sarah. I had a big date." _A big_ overnight _date_ , he thought with pride, then laughed as he blushed. He deposited Penny on her usual chair and flicked on the TV. On the way back to the kitchen, he grabbed the envelope. As he got out a bowl, he studied the letter. What on earth could his mother be constantly writing to Thomas Wayne about? He checked briefly to make sure she wasn't paying attention, then opened it, his back to the living room.

His reading wasn't the best, and it took him time to take in the words on the page. "Your son..." "Our son..." He reread those key phrases, thinking he must be mistaken. As he went further, his grip on the papers tightened. "Arthur is a good boy." His jaw clenched. "...how happy he is most of the time." "I love you forever, Penny Fleck."

Slowly, he folded the letter back together and stuffed it in its envelope. Despite the deep breath he took, he couldn't stop the confusion, anger, and hint of excitement from blooming in him. A scowl came across his face as he tried to control himself, failing already.

Arthur slammed his fist on the counter, knocking the bowl on it to the floor with a crash.

Penny called from the living room. "Happy, what happened? Did you hurt yourself again?"

"How come you never told me?" he yelled, going to the living room entrance. 

She stood from the chair, pointing at him. "Is that my letter? You have no right opening my mail!"

He slowly advanced on her. "How could you keep this from me?"

Penny ran into the bathroom, faster than he'd seen her move in years. "You're gonna kill me. You're gonna give me a heart attack!" she shrieked, slamming the door and locking it.

"I'll give you a-" he followed her and pounded on the door, then jiggled the handle.

"I'm not talking to you until you stop being angry!" she yelled.

Immediately, he withdrew, pacing back and forth. "Okay. Okay," he said meekly. "I'm not angry, Mom," he said calmly, shoulders tightening as he approached the bathroom again. "I'm not angry." Leaning in, he put his hand on the door. "Please. Mom. Is this real?"

There was a long pause before her muffled voice came through the wood. "He's an extraordinary man, Happy. A very powerful man." Arthur stared at the door in disbelief. "We were in love. He said it was best that we not be together because of appearances."

When he leaned his head against the door, he sighed. "And I could never tell anyone-," she continued, "-because. Well, I signed some papers." His eyes drifted shut. "And besides, you can imagine what people would say about Thomas and me. And what they'd say about you."

His answer came quietly, voice rough with emotion. "What would they say, mom?"

He heard her intake of breath before she answered. "That you're an unwanted bastard."


	14. Chapter 14

After breakfast and some passionate necking in the doorway, Arthur had left. As he’d disappeared into the elevator, he gave a playful but modest wave and smiled. Coincidentally, the next door neighbor had popped out to get her paper. When Sarah had greeted her, the woman had kept her eyes averted, muttered a quick, "Morning," then hurriedly went back inside.

At first Sarah had found it odd, but then it’d dawned on her. Maybe she needed to learn to keep her voice down.

Chuckling, she’d gone back into the apartment and the bedroom, considering changing the sheets. But, blushing happily, she’d left them alone. He would be over again that night; she’d been sure they'd wind up between them. Then she’d checked the sofa. She hated trying to launder upholstery and wasn't particularly good at it. Luckily, she hadn't seen anything that would have given away their activities - her robe had been in the way.

From the moment he was gone, she knew she was head over heels. Her eighty-seven percent certainty had increased to ninety-six over the course of their morning. He hadn't said much after they'd gotten up, but his actions touched her. After a little prompting, he'd poured coffee for them, then asked how she liked hers. He'd made it with one sugar and a shot of milk. (Seemingly nervous that he'd make it too white, he'd kept asking, "Is that enough?") Then he'd hovered next to her while she cooked. It'd already felt like he belonged there.

The speed with which the comfort of routine had developed between them was startling. In her past relationships, she'd taken things slowly. Jeff, her ex-husband, was someone she'd met as a sophomore in high school. He'd been a college freshman, studying pre-law. It had taken five months before they started dating. He was a good man - they exchanged Christmas cards every year, letting each other know they were still alive. But they'd gotten married only a month after she'd graduated, before she’d had a chance to develop her own identity.

Sarah decided the biggest distinction between then and the present was that she'd grown-up. Taking care of her father had forced her to mature quickly. She hadn't had time for other people's bullshit and had to figure out how to clearly say yes and no, something she'd struggled with until her late-twenties. She'd had to learn what she did and did not want.

Arthur, even the Arthur who'd been trembling and biting his nails on the couch with his Gotham Department of Health notebook, was what she wanted. It was surprisingly easy to like _and_ love him, not only because he was handsome, kind, and most of what she’d experienced of him had been great. But also because she now knew herself.

Picturing him, while sitting at her desk and trying to work, made the corners of her lips turn up. Nervous excitement and plain happiness caused her to laugh quietly. She felt foolish. She hadn’t giggled like that since she’d been a teenager, lip-syncing badly to the radio with her sister.

She truly was trying to act professionally that morning. But at their usual mid-week meeting with Matt, Patricia passed her a note with the words, “You can’t stop smiling!” written on it. Sarah gave it back, feeling like a girl trying not to get caught by the teacher, with a heart, followed by two questions marks and an exclamation point.

Once the meeting ended, Patricia arched a brow at her. Sarah put her palm to her face, groaning. The note had been terribly out of character. “I just wanted to know what it was like to be girly. Once.” Her embarrassment had quickly faded, though, and she said, “I promise I’ll tell you everything tonight.”

The rest of work went by uneventfully, with her back to preparing the firm's family cases. They were a gallery of dysfunction. There had been a rise in children being taken from their parents due to substance abuse disorder after budget cuts had stopped their treatment. And there was a stack of protection from abuse orders, including pictures of bruises and other injuries. The occasional petty divorce filings were a nice break. She would sometimes reread the best complaints when she needed a chuckle. Though the work wasn’t difficult, by early afternoon she was exhausted and trying not to nod off at her desk.

She left early, then, and made her way to the Gotham Bureau of Corporations to try to find more information on Renew Corp. It turned out it had been registered as a limited liability corporation. As a result, their annual reports and registered agents were openly available. The photocopies she made cost her $2.35 at five cents a page. Sitting on the floor at her coffee table, she reviewed the reports. Most of them were about profits and projects, which didn't interest her. She already knew the addresses they were after. The list of registered agents intrigued her, though. She'd have to go over her plan with Patricia.

But first she had to figure out how to explain what she thought was happening in a way that didn't make her sound crazy. Who would believe that Gotham's largest philanthropic organization was responsible for a third-party harassing poor people instead of helping them? She'd find it hard to believe herself if she hadn't taken a closer look. But she was at a loss as to what other conclusion could be drawn.

~~~~~

When Sarah told Patricia her general theory, she'd been skeptical. But once the shoe boxes of letters tenants were getting were pulled out, Patricia's eyes widened. "You coming over here with the file was a risk," Sarah told her, putting the folder on the table. "It means a lot. I don't want you to do anything else that could get you in trouble."

Patricia shook her head. "I've been there forever. Matt won't ask questions. The only reason you got caught was your big mouth and bad luck."

Taking out a plate for the scones she’d picked up, Sarah smirked in response.

Patricia grabbed one of the pastries and took a bite. "Before we start work, I need to know what on earth is going on with you and this guy you're dating." Despite the exasperation in her voice, she looked amused. "You're glowing."

After putting on the kettle, Sarah boosted herself up on the counter next to the stove. She crossed her ankles. "His name's Arthur Fleck. He's a performer - he's sometimes a clown at the children's hospital. He’s an aspiring stand-up. I think he's a little older than me. Early to mid-forties?"

"This is the-" Patricia made air quotes "'-good looking pie guy,' right?" she asked. "How did you meet?"

Grinning, Sarah went into how they'd kept meeting serendipitously. That he was gentle with her, something she hadn't experienced much in her life. (Given her assertive personality, most people appeared to think she never wanted or needed it.) She flushed at the memories. "I think he's the last gentleman in Gotham. He holds the door open for me. He helps me with my coat." She wished he was there, right now, with his arm slung about her waist, hearing all the compliments she was giving him.

"We talk on the phone every night," Sarah continued, "and I look forward to those few minutes the whole day. He tells me jokes. Even when they're terrible, I love them." Shaking her head, she said, "He sometimes misunderstands what I say and doesn't know how to respond.” Her eyes fluttered shut as she breathed the rest. “He seems a little left footed with the world. But I’ve fallen in love with him, anyways."

It took a few seconds before Patricia spoke. "Already?"

Sarah folded her arms over her chest. "How long did it take before you knew you loved Robert?"

"I knew Robert and I were going to get married after our first date thirty years ago." Patricia stood and stretched her arms. "But sometimes I regret accepting his second invitation."

That prompted a snort from Sarah. "On our second date, I got wine-drunk and had a mini-breakdown on the sofa. Arthur didn't try to take advantage or leave. He just listened and tried to make me feel better."

The tea kettle started whistling, interrupting her train of thought. She hopped off the counter and started filling their cups. "I think the biggest thing we have in common is taking care of ailing parents - he cares for his mother." After sitting at the table, she dunked the teabag a few times. "It's rare to find someone who understands how hard that can be." A smile appeared on her face. "He gets it. He gets _me_. And I think I get him."

"Tell me three negative things about him," Patricia said.

Sarah cocked her head. "He smokes like a chimney - I don't know how he hasn't gotten cancer already. He's too unsure of himself." She scrunched up her face, remembering how he'd told her to leave after his mother had wounded him. "And he's too self-reliant. He thinks I don't notice, but I do."

Before asking her next question, Patricia took a long sip. "Have you slept with him?"

"Last night,” Sarah answered without hesitation. “This morning," She smirked. "I’m bone-tired, but hopefully tonight."

Patricia stared at her, then burst out laughing. "Jesus, Sarah."

Sarah cracked-up at her reaction, playfully smacking her arm. "Hey, I'm turning forty in April. If I see something I want, I'm going to grab it." She pointed at Patricia to emphasize what she said next. "And I can tell you, in his own words, he did _not_ mind."

"Does he know how you feel?"

Sarah put down her teacup. "It's hard for me to open myself up. I'd shut that off for so long.” A sigh left her as she leaned back against the chair. “I know it doesn't make sense, but going to bed with him is easier than saying anything."

"He sounds like a decent man," Patricia said. "There aren't many in Gotham."

"There aren't many _anywhere_." After some silence, Sarah furrowed her brow. "He’s wonderful. But I can tell he has difficulties. Or at least he has in the past."

Patricia's eyebrows knit together. "Legal trouble?"

"No, nothing like that." Sarah adjusted her legs. How much information could she share without crossing a line? Maybe disclosing his affliction would be all right - he did have laminated cards he handed out. "He has a neurological condition that makes him laugh. It doesn't happen often, but I've seen it when he's nervous. It's been hard for him." She studied her tea, thinking of his notebook and all his medication.

And she felt shame, remembering how she'd shut him down like a coward when it'd seemed he was going to tell her everything.

"Do you want me to do a background check on him?" Patricia spoke quietly, her concern obvious.

Sarah waved the idea away. "No. There’s no reason.” Then she blushed. “I don’t even know why I told you. But," she smiled, "I appreciate you caring enough to ask." Pointing at the nearby folder, she said, “Now let’s get this over with so I can call him.”

They started on the file, then, sorting through the motions, writing down the day each one was filed with the court. Opening all the letters was a pain in the ass - Sarah was relieved she only got a couple of paper cuts. The dates on those were analyzed, too, and put onto a parallel list next to those of the filings. When they were finished, an hour or so later, they were able to confirm the motions and letters had started during the same time period.

Patricia sipped her tea, shrugging. "It could be a coincidence."

"Of course it could. That's why I got the list of registered agents with Renew Corp." Sarah got up and grabbed the reports she'd copied from the counter next to the stove. "I'm supposed to have the Wayne Foundation tax returns on Friday. I'll see if Renew Corp. is listed anywhere on there."

"Actually, I have a better idea." Patricia crossed her legs and indicated the reports with her pen. "The tax filings will have all the Wayne Foundation employees listed on one of the schedules. You can see if any of the names match the agents on the Renew reports."

Sarah leaned back against the counter. "I can't believe I didn't think of that." Frowning, she mentally went over the dates they’d written. “Did I see that a new motion was filed on Monday? Do you have it?”

“Yeah, we got our copy today. Why?” Patricia dug through the file until finding it, then handed it to her.

“When I looked through the file, nothing indicated a new motion was needed.” She started to scan it. It was a motion to amend the original filing, which meant addresses could either be added or taken off. This one added a few in order to, according to the summary, allow the building of an additional medical clinic wing. She didn’t recognize most of them: a residential building on Cortelyou Road, an empty lot on Sutter Avenue, a commercial area on Rockaway Boulevard. An apartment complex at 225a Anderson Avenue _._

Her breath halted. _225a Anderson Avenue._

It made sense. Despite the heaviness forming in her stomach, and her inability to take in any air, it was perfectly logical. Ms. McPhee’s building was on the same block as Arthur’s, on a perpendicular street. Sarah closed her eyes, reaching back to grasp the counter.

“Sarah, what’s wrong?”

Heat rose from Sarah’s shoulders, through her neck, to her face. “Arthur… Arthur’s address is included.” She held out the paper to Patricia. “How am I supposed to tell him?”

Standing, Patricia put her hands on Sarah’s shoulders. “This is going to take months and months. And you’re trying to stop it.”

“I know, but-” Sarah started.

“Does he know the details of what you’re working on?” After Sarah shook her head, Patricia continued. “It’s not going to do any good to say anything.”

“I just told you I love him. How can I-”

The blaring sound of the phone interrupted her. After another couple rings, she went to grab the beige receiver from the wall next to the kitchen entrance. "Hello?"

"Hi. It's Arthur."

Sarah checked the clock - it was after seven. He'd probably expected her to call by now. Pointing at the receiver, she turned around and looked at Patricia. "Arthur, I'm sorry I haven't called yet. I was just talking about you." She took a breath, trying to keep her voice from reflecting the anger simmering inside her. "Why don't you come over now? You can meet Patricia before she-"

His voice was strained when he interrupted her. "No. I can't. Is there anyway you can come to the hospital?"

That was unexpected. She felt worry cross her face. "Are you all right?"

"It's my mother. We just got here. I don't know what's wrong. There was an ambulance when I got home from..." His tone lowered, sounding a little embarrassed. "Can you please come? I don't understand all the paperwork." A pause, then. “I don’t mean to bother you.”

"You’re never a bother. I'll be right there. Which hospital?" Sarah watched as Patricia rose from her chair and started packing up the file she'd brought.

"Gotham General. In the emergency room," he answered.

"I'm on my way." She grabbed her coat and purse as she hung up. "Arthur's mother's in the ER. I gotta grab a cab."

Patricia took her jacket. "I brought my car. I'll take you."

Sarah gave Patricia a good, long hug, something she rarely did. "I owe you. Thank you for helping me."

"Anytime. Arthur's not the only one who's too self-reliant."

Sarah rolled her eyes at Patricia and squeezed her arm as she lead them both into the hallway, then locked the door.


	15. Chapter 15

All he had wanted to do was meet his father.

Arthur had always wondered what he'd done to make him leave. Maybe it had been his condition. Or, somehow, his father had instinctively known he was mentally ill. Penny had been right when she’d said he was an unwanted bastard. But Arthur still longed to find out who his father was. After his mother's confession, he'd been determined to meet him as soon as possible. Nervous excitement had filled him as he searched all his pockets until he scrounged up enough money to take a train to Wayne Manor.

A copy of City Metro News had lain on a nearby empty seat, and he’d grabbed it to study during the ride. There'd been a photo of Wayne's other son. Arthur recognized him from the news. He didn't look happy, almost hiding behind his father's form. His dark hair and apparent shyness reminded Arthur of himself. There wasn't much he remembered from when he was that age. But the boy's posture had evoked a time when Arthur had hidden in a teacher's closet because his laughter wouldn't fucking stop, even after he'd gotten a ruler across the knuckles.

Walking from the train station to the mansion, he'd done his best to make sure he looked presentable. He'd fixed his hair and looked to see if he'd missed any buttons on his dress shirt and brown cardigan. If he was going to meet his father after thirty-five years, he was going to make him proud. He'd checked his pockets for the red clown nose and magic wand he'd brought to entertain his half-brother with.

Arthur's gait had turned into a stroll as he walked along the brick wall surrounding the perimeter of Wayne Manor. He'd peered over the barrier, astonished at the size of the place. If he had been allowed to grow up with his father, he was sure his life would have been different. It certainly would have be easier to care for his mother. And he'd have his own bed to sleep in.

Even as he’d thought about these possibilities, he’d realized he didn't want anything from Thomas Wayne. He hadn't gone there to ask for money the way his mother always did. Warmth and decency were what he’d sought. If he pressed his luck, maybe he could get a hug, too.

And answers. Penny's history had always been a mystery to him. It would be nice to learn more about her.

He'd felt some solace when he spotted the boy from the photo. Younger children were easy for him to interact with. Usually, they accepted him without question. When the child had spotted him, Arthur ducked behind the wall and put his red nose on, then peeked back up and smiled, continuing towards the entrance. The boy had followed, leaving his backyard jungle gym to take a closer look.

The boy and Arthur had stopped about ten feet from each other, on either side of a closed, wrought iron gate. After performing a magic trick, which the kid didn’t seem to understand, Arthur had knelt down on his side of the barrier. He hadn’t expected to be so moved at meeting his half-brother. Hands on the bars, Arthur had asked the boy's name. The boy hadn't hesitated to give it; Arthur gave his name, too. He thought he may hugged Bruce if he could have. But the gate prevented that. He'd had to settle for pushing Bruce's mouth into a smile with his thumbs. The boy had still been smiling when Arthur let go.

Then the butler had ruined it.

Thinking back on it, Arthur grew despondent. When the man said there was nothing to tell, Arthur had been confused. Why would Penny lie about who his father was? She didn't have anything to gain from that. But when the man had called his mother delusional and sick, he felt anger burn in him. It had grown while the butler continued denying everything.

Arthur's darker impulses had gotten the better of him when the man had told him not to make a fool of himself and laughed. It had happened too fast to stop it. Rage coursed through his entire frame as he'd reached through the bars and grabbed the man by the tie, then the neck, and squeezed. "He left me!" he'd yelled, feeling pathetic even as the words left his mouth. He'd been shaking, watching the man struggle to drag his hand away.

A movement over the man's shoulder had caught Arthur's attention. The boy, his _brother_ , was standing there, staring at him with wide-eyed horror. His heart lurched. He'd made Bruce smile two minutes ago, and now he was afraid of him. Arthur had stopped suddenly, letting go of the butler. Then he'd run. As fast as he could, he'd run away from the gate, the manor, and the terrible idea to go there. Distressed, he'd hopped on the next train home, not even thinking to buy a ticket.

Now it was calm outside of Gotham General's emergency room. Arthur was glad for the silence. Sitting with his legs crossed on the metal bench, he brought his cigarette to his mouth and took a long breath. He adjusted his legs, as they'd started falling asleep. It was getting harder to stop his outbursts - today had been particularly tough. What would Sarah think if she knew what happened? Her eyes, which had seemed to reflect want and affection that morning, would instead be filled with fear. Like his brother’s. He couldn't stand the possibility. He screwed his eyelids shut.

Footsteps were approaching. Arthur felt his body relax a little, relieved Sarah was finally there. He straightened his legs and looked up, ready to spring to his feet and take her into his arms-

But two police officers were approaching him.

_Fuck_. The butler must have called Gotham PD after all.

"Mr. Fleck. Sorry to bother you,” one policeman started. “I'm Sargent Eckhard.” Eckhardt gestured towards the other officer as they stopped about a yard in front of Arthur. “This is my partner Officer Corrigan."

Arthur didn't move, looking up at them, trying to conceal his nerves.

Eckhardt continued. "We had a few questions for you, but you weren't home. So...we spoke to your mother."

It took a few moments before Arthur understood. "Oh..." His brows knit together. "What did you say to her? Did you do this?"

Corrigan spoke, waving his hand. "No, no, no. We just asked her some questions and she got hysterical - hyperventilating - then she collapsed. Hit her head pretty hard."

Arthur punctuated his words with a shake of his head, his voice strained with aggravation. "Yeah, the doctor said she had a _stroke_."

"Sorry to hear about that." Eckhardt said with some sympathy. "But like I said, we still have some questions for you." He looked down at his notes. "Were you at Wayne Manor earlier today?"

There was no point in denying it. He'd been stupid enough to give the butler his name. He focused on the ground as he answered. "Yeah."

Eckhardt continued. "They said you bothered their son."

"I didn't bother him." Arthur looked up at them. "I did a magic trick. Part of my act. I'm a party clown." Trying to keep his anger from growing, he puffed on his smoke.

"I see." Eckhardt paused. "They also said you assaulted the butler when he told you to leave."

Before Arthur could come up with an answer, a car pulled into the parking lot and stopped. After a few moments, Sarah exited it, waving goodbye to whomever the driver was. Anxiety made his shoulders ridged. It would only take a couple seconds for her to be next to him. The cops needed to leave before she saw them. She was too smart - she'd know something was up. "I wouldn't. That's horrible." He pushed himself to stand.

Sarah walked around the policemen and hugged him immediately. The relief he'd hoped to feel when he saw her was spoiled by his annoyance. She'd really shown up at the worst time. But her voice quieted him. "I'm sorry," she said. "How is she?"

He gave a quick nod. "She's sleeping."

She turned to the policemen, a confused look on her face. "Can I help you? Were you the ones who called the ambulance?"

Corrigan shook his head. "We just needed to speak with Mr. Fleck." He turned his attention to Arthur. "Don't go near the Waynes or Wayne Manor again. All right?"

"Yes. Okay." Arthur flicked his cigarette away, avoiding Sarah’s gaze as he grabbed her hand. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to go take care of my mother."

~~~~~

The hospital room was small and dimly lit, but he was glad his mother had gotten a room with a single bed and a window. Arthur sat on the twin padded chairs at Penny's bedside, staring at his clasped hands. It was all his fault. His mother being in the hospital, maybe dying. He'd selfishly neglected her. He hadn’t just left Penny alone all night so he could finally fuck a woman (something he'd been planning to do again), but he'd also left most of the day after they'd fought. What if she died before he could apologize? What if yelling at her was the last interaction they would have?

After he and Sarah had gone inside, they’d headed to the nurse's station to grab the paperwork he hadn't been able to complete on his own. Thankfully, they’d been able to find a quiet, private space to work on it. There had been so many questions about Penny's medical history. Sarah had been surprised at how little he knew. He tried to explain that Penny never liked going to doctors and didn't talk much. All he could say with any certainty was that she didn't take medication and needed help at home.

There were a lot of phrases he hadn't heard before. And it was hard for him to pay attention, his mind filled with guilt and questions of when he could bring Penny home. But Sarah had been patient as she clarified what a living will was, what advanced care directives were. Even after he'd understood, he didn't know the right answers. He'd felt like an idiot. But his mother had never discussed it. They never discussed anything.

Sarah was running her hand up and down his back soothingly. The beeping of the monitors and sound of the ventilator were deafening. Worry gnawed at him. And he felt awful. "I've been the man of the house for as long as I can remember," he said quietly. "I- I've never lived alone before."

Sarah scooted closer to him and put her other hand on his thigh. "You won't be alone, Arthur. She's going to be all right."

After a minute, he moved to slowly put his arm on the back of her chair, grazing her shoulders. With the wall heater right behind them, the position felt awkward, but good. She snuggled up to him and sighed. It didn't take long for her head to grow heavy on him, her body to slump against his side. He looked at her sullenly. How could she have fallen asleep when he needed her so badly?

He frowned at himself in disgust. _She must have had a long day,_ he thought. _And I didn't ask about it_. Carefully, he tucked a stray hair behind her ear, then adjusted himself so he was in the corner of the chair. Looking back and forth between Sarah and Penny, the only two people who mattered to him, more than even himself, he sighed. Losing either of them would tear him to pieces. He hoped he had the strength to prevent it.

~~~~~

When she blinked awake, it took Sarah a few bleary seconds for her to realize she wasn't at home. No. Her back ached because she was laying on a set of chairs at the hospital. Arthur and Ms. Fleck were there. And policemen had talked about the Waynes. She swept her hair back from her face and pushed herself up, wincing, and looked at her watch. Damn. She'd been asleep for almost an hour. Looking around, she didn’t see Arthur. His jacket was draped over her, though. He couldn't have gone far. Stretching, she stood and looked around the room.

She'd spent a lot of time in hospitals in the year before she'd moved to Gotham. They were all quite similar: florescent lighting, tiled walls, that same anti-septic smell. There was a strange comfort in the familiarity. Ms. Fleck's form was small in the bed, her arms stuck with IVs, face almost entirely enveloped by the ventilator mask. The electrodes for the heart monitor were visible through her hospital gown. Sarah wondered if she was cold. She stepped to her and pulled the cover further over Ms. Fleck, bringing it to the top of her chest.

As Sarah continued to observe her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, she felt the urge to talk. It was silly. She barely knew this woman. And the one time she'd met her, Ms. Fleck had hurt her son. But maybe talking would help her recover. For Arthur's sake, at least. "I hope you don't mind me being here," she started. "Arthur's here, too. But you probably know that. He hopes to see you again soon." Her brows lifted as she continued. "I want you to know your son is a wonderful man. I'm fortunate to have met him. I-"

When she saw Arthur enter the room out of the corner of her eye, she stopped and turned to him. He approached the foot of the bed, two paper cups in his hands. "I got some coffee," he said, offering her one. "They didn't have any creamer. Sorry."

She took it gratefully and sipped at it. "Thank you. I'm sorry I fell asleep. You should have woken me up."

He dismissed her apology with a wave. "Has anything changed?"

"No. But she seems stable."

"That's good," he said, taking a drink.

After some silence, save for the sound of a monitor, Sarah decided to try to lighten the mood. "Well, tonight didn't turn out how we'd planned, huh?"

Arthur stared at her. First she thought she'd misjudged the timing of her remark, but then he chuckled, blushing, and brought his hand to his face. "No."

His laugh relieved her. It was good to hear before she had to start questioning him. Sarah put a hand on one of the bed's safety railings and closed her eyes. The policemen who'd been talking to Arthur when she arrived had been in the back of her mind since she'd gotten there, as well as their comment about the Waynes. "Arthur, I need to know. What were those officers talking about?"

His brow furrowed. After half a minute, he responded. "My mother wrote Thomas Wayne another letter. She keeps asking me why he isn't answering. I wanted to give it to him." His eyes darted to hers, then back down to Ms. Fleck.

"They called the police because you wanted to drop off a letter?" Sarah asked.

He went back to the chairs they had shared and sat stiffly. "I don't know why," he said softly, studying his coffee. "I didn't go inside. I waited at the gate." He pursed his lips, his face still pensive.

She suspected there was more to it - she'd have to find out the rest later. But his explanation was enough for the moment. Her thoughts went to the newly filed motion and a lump formed in her throat. Patricia was right: there was no way she could tell him about it now. Not with the stress he was experiencing. She would be needlessly piling on. Maybe Renew Corp. wouldn't send their letters his way, and she could continue to work in the background.

But she still felt the need to warn him. "Stay away from them, Arthur. They're powerful people. Gotham depends on them for too much." His only response was a nod and his eyes fluttering shut.

Music from the television appeared to suddenly draw his attention. Though she wasn't a regular viewer, Sarah recognized it as the opening theme to Live! With Murray Franklin. She watched his features soften, his eyes light up. The break from the tension he'd displayed most of the night would do him good, she thought. She settled next to him and finished her coffee as the monologue went on, more interested in Arthur's reactions than the show itself. When he scooted forward and reached out to hold his mother's hand, she gave him a smile, half-listening to the TV.

"...in a world where everyone thinks they could do my job, we got this videotape from Pogo's comedy club right here in Gotham. Here's a guy who thinks if you just keep laughing, it'll somehow make you funny. Check out this joker."

At the sound of Arthur's laugh, Sarah's eyes shot to the television, a hollow ache forming in her chest. There was Arthur, almost completely washed out by the spotlight on his pale skin, stumbling his way through his opening. Who had recorded this, she wondered, and which asshole had given it to NCB studios?

"Oh my god." Arthur said, then moved to stand in front of the TV. He was smiling. And when the clip was done, he let out a short, genuine laugh and clapped once. The joy on his face hurt her heart. He didn't seem to understand he was about to be mocked, that he was going to be laughed at, not with.

Murray spoke, then, mugging for the camera. “You should have listened to your mother.”

Sarah felt remorse for every time she had laughed at an oddball being made fun of on television.

"Let’s see one more," Franklin said. "I love this guy."

She closed her eyes, wishing she could shut her ears, too. If only the television had been broken or the antenna was out.

"It’s funny. When I was a little boy, and _told_ people I was gonna be a comedian, _everyone_ laughed at me," the recording of Arthur said. "Well, no one's laughing now."

Franklin didn't miss a beat. "You can say that again, pal." The audience roared.

Sarah got to her feet and went to Arthur. The corner of his mouth twitched; his whole frame was frozen, his jaw clenched. She reached out to take his closed fist in one hand, wrapping her other arm around his back. "You didn't deserve that."

He went to grab his jacket from the chair and hurriedly put it on. "We should go," he said. "It's late."

Sarah turned to him, squinting. "Are you sure? I don't mind staying long-"

"No, please. Let's just go," his said lowly. He left the room, not waiting for her, his coffee cup on the windowsill.

Buttoning her coat, she followed, catching up to him as he waited for the elevator. "Arthur-"

"You should go home," he said, leg bouncing.

She tried to take his hand, running her thumb over the back of it. "Come back with me. You shouldn’t be alone right now."

"I'll be fine."

"You don't have to push me away," she said, shaking her head. Though she spoke tenderly, it was impossible to keep her frustration out of her voice. "I wish you wouldn't."

His expression turned crestfallen. After they went into the elevator, he took her face in his hands and kissed her lightly. "I'm sorry." he said, pressing his forehead to hers. "Please don't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad." She held onto his wrists. When she looked up at him, his eyes were shining and wet. The usual puffiness under them had gotten worse. "You look exhausted. Have you slept?" she asked.

"No."

She traced one of the bags with her thumb. "Is there anything you can take that will help?"

A snort left him and he backed away from her. "You don't have to worry about that."

"What does that mean?"

He bit his lip, frowning. "I- I wanted to tell you this morning, but-"

She winced. That was deserved. "Tell me now."

After a little while, he closed his eyes. "I stopped taking my medication. The city cut the funding for it."

Sarah sighed, feeling as though she should have known, given her affected cases. Gotham Department of Health budget cuts had been all over the news, too. He _had_ been moody, but she’d chalked it up to all that had happened with Pogo’s, his mother, and herself. Now she didn’t know where to attribute it. Her mind began working on how to help. She knew a few doctors through work. Maybe there were other programs. If she could-

"Please. Just go home. I'll be all right," he insisted. He was gazing into the distance, his hands in his pockets. Sarah cocked her head, torn between respecting the boundary he was drawing and letting out the pushy side she'd warned him of. But she didn't want to scare him off.

After they stepped out of the elevator, then exited the hospital, she grabbed his arm and pulled him towards her. He nearly stumbled but caught himself on her shoulder. He looked at her in consternation. She ignored it. "Come by if you want to,” she said. “I'll be at work all day, but tonight and tomorrow after the benefit I'll be home. Hell, stop by my office for a break."

Arthur lowered his head and nodded. "Okay."

"I’m here if you need me." She pressed her lips to his cheek. "And if you don't call me when you get home, I swear-."

"I will." The answer was so quiet, she almost didn't hear it. His eyes flicked to hers long enough to know he would. Then he withdrew gently, the corner of his mouth lifting before he turned and walked away.


	16. Chapter 16

Five years ago, Sarah had gone to a Class of 1959 reunion. It had served as her last attempt at connecting to and fitting in with her hometown. And it had given her a break from tending to her father. All the evening had done, however, with its inane conversations about high school football, wallet and purse photos of her classmates' children, and constant questions about her divorce, was cement her conviction that she needed to get the fuck out of dodge.

At the Wayne benefit, she felt that same unfamiliar, out of place sensation, albeit for different reasons. The gown she wore had been the cheapest suitable option she'd found at one of the consignment shops Arthur had shown her on their first date. It was itchy and uncomfortable. The blue sequins drew too much attention to her breasts. And the slit, which started mid-thigh, was too high - she'd tried to make it lower using safety pins, with minor success.

Wayne Hall itself made her uncomfortable. The mahogany woodwork and marble floors in the grand entrance were undeniably beautiful, but felt egregious when contrasted with the people she'd been getting to know while secretly working on the Wayne Foundation case. There were gold fixtures in the bathroom, which was both decadent and ridiculous. (Piss was piss, even if it rested momentarily in a fancy toilet bowl.) Just one of those faucets probably would have covered a month's worth of expenses for most Gotham residents. Her mind went to the humble apartment of Ms. McPhee and what the Wayne Foundation was trying to do to her. And then, inevitably, her pondering went to Arthur.

It was hard to think about him without pangs of conscience. For the first time since getting to know him, in spite of their discernible differences in education, opportunity, and income, their relationship felt imbalanced. She didn't like it. But if she told him his apartment building was involved in her 'big Wayne case,' she had no idea how he'd react. He was already dealing with so much, too much for one person. Ms Fleck's precarious health, Franklin humiliating him on television, being cut off from his medications and, presumably, any other care he'd been getting. It was awful to hide this from him, though, even as she believed she was protecting him.

She hadn't heard from him today. Their nightly call would come after the gala, but she'd reached out at lunch and before she left the office when he hadn't popped by as she'd invited. Her messages had gone unanswered. She tried to remind herself he had his own life, that she'd been with him the night before as they'd stood next to Ms. Fleck's hospital bed. But he'd been, understandably, so upset after being made fun of. And more withdrawn than usual. That concerned her, despite his reassurances he'd be all right.

Sarah had stopped by Gotham General before the gala, hoping to see him. He hadn't been there. At least the nurse had said she'd seen Arthur for a little while that morning. The doctor wouldn't give her any update on Ms. Fleck's condition, since she wasn't family. But Sarah had managed to pop into her room, see that she still hadn't woken up, and wish her well.

While she sat there, in the front row of the second mezzanine of Wayne Hall’s theater, she tried to distract herself by focusing on the film. But as she watched Chaplin's "Modern Times," she wished Arthur was sitting next to her instead of Matt. While she wasn't enjoying the movie, she was certain he would have loved it, along with the live orchestra playing along. She knew he didn't get out often, something she was determined to change. In her mind's eye, she could picture him there, dressed up and handsome as ever, smiling and laughing. She'd reach over and trace the veins on the back of his hand. (She knew that simple touch would set her on fire.) In response, he'd smirk at her and give her side-eye. She wondered if he'd be willing to sneak off somewhere and -

Groaning, she shook her head. Would he even want to be there if he knew what she was concealing from him?

Patricia, who was sitting on her other side, must have noticed her slight distress. "Let's go get a drink," she said in her ear.

"You read my mind," Sarah said, rising.

As they maneuvered to leave, Matt grasped Sarah's arm gently. "Where are you going?" he whispered, glancing back and forth between them, bewildered. "You're going to miss the ending!"

Patricia answered for her. "The ladies room."

Matt blinked at them, then let go. "Oh. Well, enjoy the facilities. The tickets were $500 a piece."

"$500 a piece?" Sarah couldn't stop her mouth from gaping. As Patricia began to pull her up the aisle to the exit, she continued, half to herself. "That's more than my rent."

As they walked down the stairs, her heels scrapping across the ornate carpet, Sarah was glad to see the reception area was mostly empty. There were a few tuxes and gowns, though, mingling. She turned to Patricia. "I need to limit myself to two drinks. Or I'll do something stupid and get myself fired," Sarah said as they approached the bar. "I decided you were right, by the way. I'm not telling Arthur about the motion." She sighed heavily. "He's going to figure out something is up, though. I don’t know if I can sleep with him when I'm hiding something."

"Why punish him? He's not the liar." Patricia said, sitting on a corner stool. After ordering champagne for them both, she pursed her lips. "You're unhappy about keeping it from him. I could have been wrong."

Playing with the stem of her champagne coupe, Sarah leaned against the bar. "No. I can't say anything.” She thought about what he’d confided to her. And that there was still a lot she didn’t know. "He's strong. I can tell he's had to be. But he's stretched thin." A bitter laugh left her. "I don't think he's had anyone to help him before. He doesn't seem to know what to do with it."

Patricia put her clutch purse on her lap. "How's his mother doing?"

Sarah shrugged. "There were no changes when I checked in earlier." After sipping her drink, she checked her watch. "How much longer do you think I have to stay here? I want to go home and get out of this itchy thing," she said, scratching her side. "And call him."

"Probably another hour or two."

At Patricia's reply, Sarah rolled her eyes. They sat together, sipping their drinks quietly. When some minutes had passed and Patricia had finished her champagne, Sarah said, "You should go back. Matt's going to wonder where we are if we're both gone any longer. Tell him I'm having my monthly. He'll leave me alone then." She looked around, surveying the few people milling about. "I'm going to try to schmooze, badly, and I don't want you implicated."

Patricia snorted lightly as she stood. "Yes, ma'am." Before leaving, she gave Sarah a serious look. "I know how upset you are at what's happening. But don't be too rash. You don't want to step into anything. Yet."

Sarah waited until Patricia had disappeared up the stairs and behind a corner, then she sat down and faced the room. There were mostly couples. A few were recognizable: the current mayor and his wife, the head of Gotham's Savings, even the Gotham Ballet director and the current prima ballerina, who'd been splashed all over the tabloids because of their affair. The longer she sat and tried to find a target, the more she considered what a bad idea this was. She turned back to the bar and ordered a Sidecar.

In her peripheral vision, two men approached the other end of the bar. They were already in the middle of wrapping up their conversation when her ears perked up. "...paperwork for the construction plans will be over within the next couple weeks. We're looking to start next fall, before the election."

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on each syllable, not wanting to miss anything. The other man spoke now. "You want construction over three blocks, right? Anderson Avenue to Monaghan Street?"

"Yes," the first man replied. "We're working on getting the land rights now."

_Holy shit._

The man waiting for the paperwork extended his hand. "It'll be a pleasure working with the Wayne Foundation," he said. "And you, Mr. Mancuso."

As the two shook hands, Sarah tried to nonchalantly wave at the bartender. Her growing excitement made subtlety more difficult than it should have been. "Send that guy," she said, pointing at Mr. Mancuso," a...whiskey on the rocks. Tell him it's from me." The bartender nodded. She then looked down at the safety pins in her dress and tried to discreetly remove one or three.

Watching demurely, she saw the bartender serve the drink, then indicate her with a gesture. Mr. Mancuso looked pleasantly surprised as he approached. He rested against the bar, about a foot from her. When he spoke, his delivery and voice were smooth. "How'd you know my favorite drink?"

She looked up at him. He was blandly handsome, but he didn't compare to the man she'd been longing to see the entire day. "Well..." Sarah hadn't thought this far ahead. But the smile on his face and her own nervous energy encouraged her to be daring. "I couldn't help but overhear you talking about business when we're supposed to be having fun and the libations are free."

He put a finger to his lips. "Ah. That was supposed to be a secret."

"It's safe with me." Sarah put out her glass for a toast, which he accepted. "But now you've got me interested," she said, smiling wryly.

Mr. Mancuso gave her a wink. "I really shouldn't be speaking about this with anyone. Especially a pretty stranger at a bar."

Playing the flirt was going better than she’d expected. She was grateful for all the recent experience Arthur had given her. "If you didn't want to, wouldn't you have left already?"

Taking a drink, he shook his head. Then, after what seemed to Sarah to be some consideration, he spoke. "The Wayne Foundation wants to open a medical center uptown. I'm coordinating it."

"Really? Why?"

"We want to help people. We're just trying to get the lots at the present time."

"I can appreciate that," she said, sipping her cocktail. She crossed her legs, trying to expel the anxiousness in her limbs. "Helping people is something we should all do. But don't people live at the addresses you mentioned?"

Mr. Mancuso's eyes narrowed. "You're asking a lot of questions. Are you a reporter?"

Chuckling, Sarah tried to hide the realization she needed to pull back. "No," she said and offered her hand, trying to think of a pseudonym. "Sharon. Sharon Kowlinska."

The name sounded fake to her own ears, but he was either charmed or buzzed enough to believe it. "Anthony Mancuso." Instead of shaking her hand as she’d anticipated, he kissed it. "Nice to meet you, Miss. Kowlinska."

Sarah fought the urge to wipe the back of her hand on her dress. "Likewise."

Anthony sat on the nearest stool and leaned into her, putting his arm on the bar. "There aren't many people there. At least, that's the position we're taking." Now that it was out, he seemed glad to be talking about the project and proud of the work he was doing. "We're negotiating with the current tenants." A scoff left him. "What kind of clowns want to live those shitholes, anyway?"

Sarah had to turn away as she laughed, fighting the urge to wipe the smug expression off his perfect face. Her thoughts turned to Ms. McPhee begging to stay in her home, and how well Arthur took care of his apartment. "Yeah," she said through gritted teeth. "What kind of clowns?"

"With the medical clinic, we'll be able to help thousands of people. It'll be good for Mr. Wayne's mayoral campaign, too. And, as a bonus..." He finished his drink. "We'll be bringing in a lot more money from medical billing than we ever would from rent-controlled housing."

"So what's stopping you?" she asked, biting her lip as she feigned ignorance. "Does Mr. Wayne disapprove?"

Anthony waved the comment off. "He doesn't have any idea what we do. As long as the coffers are full, he signs the papers to move forward. The owners are fighting it. Which is pointless. It'll take time, but we always get what we need for our projects."

Sarah turned to the din of people on the stairs behind her. The movie must have ended. Hoping the impending crowd would let her slip away, she stood. "Looks like my party is on the way. It's been nice chatting with you, Mr. Mancuso."

Before she could take a step, he grasped her wrist. "Wait. I'm stag tonight." He smiled at her. "May I at least have your number?"

Arching a brow at him, she tried to figure out how to disentangle herself from his hand. She rummaged around in her purse for a pen, then grabbed a napkin. The number she jotted down belonged to her dry cleaner. He kissed her cheek when she handed it to him. But at least he let go of her. "Good night, Sharon."

"Yeah. Good night." Sarah weaved through the crowd, then, wiping her face and hunting for Patricia. Finally, after a few minutes, she spotted her, along with Matt, headed to a cocktail table. Hastening her steps, she caught up with them and pulled Patricia away with her.

"I just spoke with the most well-mannered asshole I've ever had the displeasure of interacting with." She started to laugh. "And he wanted to show off so badly, he told me everything."


	17. Chapter 17

Arthur was good at taking a beating. At an early age, he'd learned to cover his groin and his head. But the experiences that had taught him what parts of his body to protect hadn't prepared him for being punched in the face by his presumed father. It had been one of the worst hits he could remember receiving. He'd only been distracted from the white hot pain by the ache in his chest.

Standing at his kitchen sink, he nursed his sore nose with ice wrapped in a dishtowel. The bleeding had finally stopped. He would still have to get the stains out of his gray cardigan and button-up, though. Gently, he took hold of the bridge of his nose and moved his hand from side to side. He winced, breath catching. At least it didn't seem to be broken. He laughed softly, shaking his head.

Rejecting Sarah's offer to join her at her apartment had been a mistake. All he'd done Wednesday night was lay in bed with the news in the background, burying his face in a pillow while wishing it was her, like he'd done as a lovesick teenager. And not stopping by her office, not returning her phone calls, and actively trying to avoid her all day had been another error. 

Maybe if he'd told her his plan, she could have talked him out of it. But even as he considered that possibility, he knew he was lying to himself. He wouldn't have listened to her. He would have ignored her concerns, the same way he'd ignored her warning at the hospital about the Waynes.

Because he wanted the truth.

Getting into Wayne Hall had been easy. When he'd been younger and, somehow, poorer, he'd gotten plenty of practice sneaking into movie theaters, comedy clubs, and the occasional small music venue. The red uniform he'd found in the closet had been far too big for his lean frame, like most clothing he wore, and he'd felt silly in the hat. But, after a deep breath, he'd managed to stop worrying about his get-up and focus on his goal: meeting Thomas Wayne.

After entering the second mezzanine, where he'd assumed he'd have a good vantage point, the film playing had momentarily captivated him. He'd actually felt a rare moment of pleasure, enjoying the movie, the music, and himself as he swayed to the notes of the orchestra, quietly laughing. It had been the one time tonight he'd faltered. He'd pulled himself together quickly, though, and scanned the crowd. He'd wondered where Sarah was, not wanting to bump into her. If she had caught him, he was sure she'd have been confused. And likely pissed. 

It hadn't taken long for him to spot the Waynes, situated in a box to the right side of the house. They'd been well-dressed and appeared to be having a good time. And there was no sign of Bruce. He'd watched them, trying to figure out how to best run into Mr. Wayne. Popping into the box had been out of the question. Arthur didn't want to meet Mrs. Wayne or have the necessary conversation in public. Fortunately, Mr. Wayne had gotten up after only a few seconds, taking the decision away from Arthur as he moved to trail him.

When Arthur had gotten situated at the row of bathroom sinks, he'd hurriedly taken off his ridiculous disguise. Then he'd smoothed his hair and straightened his clothing, like at Wayne Manor. As he'd pulled up his pants, he felt a sense of shame. His father was in a tuxedo and Arthur had only old clothes to wear. Despite that awareness, he'd been excited and wide-eyed, standing twenty feet from his father. He truly hadn't known what to say.

The response to Arthur introducing himself hadn't been as warm as he had hoped. There was no embrace, no acknowledgment of the years of absence. Instead, Thomas Wayne had looked at him like he was crazy. But at least he'd been noticed. Arthur had been relieved at having broken through. "My mother told me everything," he'd said, shrugging and smiling. "And I had to talk to you."

The immediate dismissal he'd gotten wasn't a complete surprise, especially after the welcome the butler had given him last night. Still, it hurt. Arthur tried to explain why he believed Mr. Wayne was his father, his voice gentle despite the volcano starting to boil inside him. He'd wished he had that damn letter with him. It was tangible proof he wasn't being delusional, that, despite Mr. Wayne's words, he was thinking clearly.

But then Mr. Wayne had told Arthur the absurd lie that he'd been adopted. Arthur had been unable to stop the tremor in his voice when protesting the notion. The speed with which he'd started sniffling had been humiliating. 

Arthur had tried to remain calm; the last thing he'd wanted was to make his father uncomfortable. The more Mr. Wayne had denied everything, though, the more insulting he’d become, the louder Arthur had gotten. He wondered if Mr. Wayne had somehow learned about his history with Arkham. Arthur thought he must have. How else would he have known which lies and insults would spear him the deepest?

And then his fucking condition had made it worse. Arthur had given up at that point, abandoning any semblance of keeping himself together. He hadn't tried to stop laughing, even as tears threatened to spill over. "Dad, it's me!" he'd guffawed, sounding nuts even to himself. "Come on!"

The sudden crack of Mr. Wayne's fist connecting with his nose still played in his ears. Arthur's hand had flown to his face, and he'd held his wound, as he always did, trying to soothe it. The last words his father said to him were, "...I'll fucking kill you." Arthur didn't try to follow him after that. Getting to know him was a lost cause. 

Bracing himself on the counter with both hands, Arthur grew more despondent. There was no way he could have been adopted. Penny had never hinted, not once, that he wasn't her son. She'd said she'd signed papers - maybe they were papers saying she couldn't talk. He'd heard of that before. Or she'd been confused and didn't know what she was talking about. 

Either his mother had been lying to him his entire life, or his father hated him. Neither were good options. 

His chuckles started to be punctuated by soft sobs, until the two were nearly indistinguishable. He wanted his laughter to disappear, along with himself. And any hint that he'd ever existed. The torment he felt needed to stop.

The phone rang. He couldn't bring himself to answer it. It was probably the police because he'd shown up at the benefit. Or the hospital. He couldn't deal with either right now. The call went to the machine after three or four rings.

"Arthur, it's me." He stilled at Sarah's voice. "This is the first day we haven't talked since the subway." At her light snort, he turned to look at the phone. "I hate it." She sighed, then, her words taking on a serious but soft quality. "Look, you told me not to worry about you. But I'm worrying. I hope you're all right." He closed his eyes, feeling worse now that he knew she was wasting her energy fretting over him when he was worthless.

But she continued. "Call me or stop by. I want to know what's going on. I meant what I said last night. Don't be afraid to need me. I need you, too." There was a pause as she cleared her throat. "I really do, Arthur. I need you. Please let me know you're okay before I come over and break down your door." Her laugh was gentle. And, Arthur thought, a bit sad. Sadness he'd caused. "Okay. I've pestered you enough today with all these messages. I'll see you soon. Good night."

Biting his lip, Arthur shook his head. How could she need him? He would never be able to give her what she deserved. His life was filled with error after error, mistake after mistake, fuck up after fuck up. Yet, even as those thoughts swamped him, he longed to run to her apartment, knock on her door, and fall into her. To allow himself the temporary escape of the comfort of her arms and the warmth of her body.

But he couldn’t. He didn't want to ruin her. He wouldn’t taint her lightness.

Arthur went to the fridge, crying less now that he had a plan. Quickly, before he could reconsider, he opened the refrigerator and started emptying it. There wasn't much in there. The bread, containers of butter and other various foodstuffs, even the shelves and drawers were soon on the floor. Trying to close out the pain bearing down on him, he climbed in, shutting the door twice behind him.


	18. Chapter 18

Sitting cross-legged next to the coffee table, Sarah was situated on her living room carpet. Her copies of paperwork from the Wayne file were spread out in front of her. The work really needed to be done. She was having a hard time paying attention, though. A pang had formed in her chest when she'd come across the motion with Arthur's address on it.

Despite her calls, he still hadn't contacted her. She'd left herself exposed, leaving that message last night, admitting she needed him. She hadn't called again. A tiny fraction of her wondered if, after weeks of getting to know Arthur, she'd misjudged him. Maybe she'd been mistaken and projected too much of herself onto him. It had been foolish to allow herself to love him so quickly.

But she didn't regret it. And a larger percentage of her knew he was in a messy situation. Both his refusal to accept her help and the financial cuts that had stolen whatever support he had been getting raised her ire. She couldn't do anything about the latter, but she could damn well be obnoxious about the former. Tomorrow, she'd go to his apartment and ring the buzzer until his stubborn ass answered the door.

Satisfied that she at least had a plan to deal with Arthur, she started in on the mess in front of her. The Wayne Foundation tax returns had come in. At a couple of hundred pages each, they were longer than she had anticipated. After a short phone call with Patricia, Sarah found the schedules with the pass-through entities and employees listed. The pass-throughs weren't helpful - they were listed with federal identification numbers, which she had no way to decipher.

The employee list, however, was exactly what she was looking for. It took some time and a drink or two, but when she compared Wayne Foundation employees with the registered agents of Renew Corp., she was pleased there were three or four matches. Seeing the name "Anthony Mancuso" on both documents, she allowed herself a few moments of elation.

Her conversation with him at the benefit had been a chat, nothing that could be used as evidence. But now she had proof of the tie between the organizations. "Got you, you asshole," she said, tapping her finger to his name. She leaned back on her hand, giggling, and took a sip of wine. Now she needed to figure out how to succinctly summarize her theory and findings, then make one last pitch to Matt.

As she began to clean-up, putting everything in order of how she wanted to present it, she was startled by knocking on her door. She looked at the clock on her end table. It was past ten. She wondered if it was the building's super, telling her the hot water was out again. Or if someone's dog had escaped their apartment and was wreaking havoc throughout the building. Stretching, she cracked her back, got up, and made her way to the door. She took a peek through the peephole.

Arthur was on the other side.

"Oh my god," she said to herself. But she didn't open the door. Instead, she hurried back to the coffee table, shoved the rest of the file together, and searched for a place to hide it.

The knocking came again, louder this time.

"Just a minute!" she called as she went into the kitchen. Reaching up, she haphazardly stuck the folder on top of the refrigerator. She grimaced - it wasn't the best spot, but it would have to do. Then she strode back to the door, unlocked it, and flung it open.

She didn't take a second to look before stepping to him. Standing on her toes, she put her arms around his neck, her chin on his shoulder. "Where the hell were you?" she asked, her tone full of relief and frustration. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been?" she scolded, tightening her hold on him. "Jesus Christ, Arthur. Don't ever do that to me again."

Only when she felt water dripping onto her face and arms, and wetness seeping through her shirt, did she let go of him. He was soaking wet. The clothing he wore, which was usually loose, clung to him. His disheveled brown hair partially obscured his face. She brushed the soaked locks back. He was more haggard than usual, his eyes vacantly gazing at the floor. His arms were held to his chest, holding an object under his drenched jacket.

Her irritation softened. It was obvious he was in a terrible state. And she didn't know what to do. Her first goal was to get him inside. She held the door open. After a few seconds, he started to move, his steps heavy. She was puzzled when he raised his hand and ran it over her hanging coat, trembling when he squeezed the soft fabric. As he walked forward, he traced the edges of the wall calendar. She watched as he went to her couch, touching the back of it, his fingers going over the cushions. Then he sat, placing his palms flat on the coffee table and releasing a breath.

Sarah approached, stopping when she was in front of him, on the other side of the table. She was wracking her brain, trying to come up with practical ways to help. "Arthur, wh-"

"I had a bad day," he whispered, stretching and examining his fingers.

Moving to sit next to him, she put her hand on his knee. "Did your mother pass?"

His head shook almost imperceptibly. "She's not..." Gradually, he looked at her. When their gazes met, his was wide-eyed, lost. She took his hand and he clasped hers, hard. But he didn't say anything further.

"You feel like ice. How long were you running around in the rain?"

It took awhile, but his response came softly. "I dunno."

"Get up." She tugged at him until he followed her instruction. "We have to warm you up before you get sick."

"I'm fine."

Huffing, she walked to the radiators under her windows and turned them up. "Give me your clothes." He started to remove his jacket, then handed it to her, which she laid over the heater. When he began taking off the rest, she went to the bedroom, quickly changed her shirt, then started shuffling through her drawers. An over-sized green sweatshirt and old pajama bottoms were all she found that might fit him.

Cackling diverted her attention back to the living room, and she looked through the doorway. Arthur stood, doubled over and laughing in his briefs, holding a folder to his chest. One hand was on his stomach as the guffaws ripped through him. He barely managed to stop from falling, catching himself on the edge of the coffee table.

Sarah swallowed, willing herself to remain unaffected, and went to him. The closer she got, the more it sounded like he was crying. Mucus fell from his nose - he tried to catch it but it landed on the floor. Kneeling next to him, she put her arm around his front, then ran a palm over his back. "Breathe," she soothed. "Just breathe."

Eventually, his attack subsided. A few deep breaths later, he pulled away. She reluctantly let him go. "Sorry," he whispered as he stood, putting the folder on the table. "I- I-"

"Shh," she said, gathering his wet clothes and hanging them across the radiators. She reached to him for his briefs, but instead he took her hand. Smiling softly, she indicated his underwear. He removed them modestly and she hung them next to his trousers. "Come on. You need a hot shower."

He followed her to the bathroom, but said, "I don't wanna be alone."

She bit her lip. There was no way she was going to get in the shower with Arthur. Given the delicious emptiness she'd been longing to have filled by him, she knew that would inevitably lead to sex. That wasn't what he needed right now. Not yet. "I'll leave the bathroom door open. Just five minutes." At his nod, she placed the clothing she'd found and two towels on the counter next to the sink.

As she started the shower and tested the temperature, she felt his stare. "Sarah," he said. When she faced him, he averted his eyes, an expression of defeat on him. "Can you-" The faint protuberance of his Adam's apple bobbed. "Can you take the razor away? Please." His request was made so lowly, she wasn't sure if she'd heard him correctly.

Somehow, she managed to hide her spike of alarm. She tried to keep it in check by being realistic. He understood enough about what he was dealing with to make the request. That was something. Nodding, she reached across the tub, removed it, and shoved it in her pocket. Then she rubbed his bicep and tried to give him an encouraging grin. "I'll be in the kitchen waiting for you. Have you eaten?" When he looked at her, she knew the answer was no. "I have some chicken noodle soup. It's canned, but I'll heat it up for you."

"Thank you."

After he hopped in the shower, as she made her way back to the kitchen, she glanced at the folder he'd brought. She recognized the Arkham State Hospital logo. The name on the label, "Penny Fleck," jumped out at her. _That must be his mother's name_. She made mental note to ask him about it later.

When she stood in front of her microwave, she allowed herself one small, quiet sniff. She was pleased Arthur had come to her, that he was in the next room, even in his current state. The absence of his presence had been acute over the past forty-eight hours. But his behavior concerned her. The way he'd touched everyday objects, the difficulty he had had in beginning to speak. It all reminded her of how her father had tried to ground himself, before he'd been too far gone to notice anything was amiss.

For the first time, she found herself grateful for a little of what she had experienced. Arthur didn't have dementia, but some of the grounding techniques she'd learned might crossover. And, because she didn’t have to deal with the trauma of role reversal, they would be easier for her to provide Arthur than they had been her father. Kindness, calm, and touch were things she wanted to give to him, anyway. Maybe she could help him through whatever was happening.

And she decided she would attempt to make contact with the doctor she knew next week. Then try to get Arthur to go.

Almost as soon as the shower was off, she heard Arthur walking to her. The corner of her lips lifted - it hadn't been five minutes. She turned to see him toweling his hair, then slick it back with his hand and hang the towel next to his drying clothes. The pajama pants she'd given him were a little short, coming up to his ankles. But it worked. And he hadn't bothered to put on the shirt.

His approach was anxious, arms folded over his chest. It reminded her of when he'd first come over a week ago. Refusing to let the progress they'd made be lost, she grabbed him and brought him to stand next to her. His gaze was slow to meet hers, but when it did, she was relieved. There was sadness there, but at least his eyes were no longer vacant. "I'm glad you came to me," she said, then cupped his cheek and kissed him. After a few seconds, he responded, patting her side before going to sit at the table.

He ate quietly, his bites starting off sluggishly but quickening as he went. She made decaf coffee and observed him, wondering when to start prodding. After handing him the mug, she squeezed his arm and sat next to him. "What's happened? I've never seen you like this."

Fiddling with the handle of his mug, he frowned. "Can we talk about this tomorrow? I just want to try to enjoy being here."

Mulling it over, she arched a brow. He was conversing with her now. And seemingly calmer. She could wait a few more hours for answers. "Fine. We'll talk tomorrow."

He sighed as he took her hand. "Today was awful. The worst day I can remember. I- I don't know what do to." A hiccup left him, a half-smile on his lips. "It's so hard to just try and be happy all the time."

Sarah scooted her chair closer to him. "You don't have to be. No one is."

Gently, his other hand moved to push up her sleeve, his fingertips caressing her forearm. "I wish I'd known you sooner."

"You know me now," she said, pressing her mouth to the corner of his.

He nodded. "Yeah," he breathed. "I hope it's enough."

~~~~~

It was Arthur's touch, feather light on her thigh and hip, that stirred her. Yawning, she shifted back towards him, his warmth a beacon as the fog of sleep gradually fell away. At first she assumed he simply wanted to hold her, like he'd done on her couch before they'd gone to bed. But then his palm went under the hem of her nightgown, and he splayed his fingers on her abdomen. Heat shot to her center. She shuddered when he pressed his erection to the cleft of her rear. "Sarah," he rasped, his breath hot on the nape of her neck. "I need you."

Those words were a balm, but she paused. Given his earlier state and her own guilt at hiding her work, she wasn’t sure if sleeping with him now would be the best idea. But she didn't want to resist him. For a moment, she wondered at his sudden boldness. Then he ground against her again, a groan on his lips, and her thoughts stopped. Turning to him, she pressed herself to the firm plains of his body and weaved her fingers through his loose curls. "I'm here," she whispered, drawing his mouth to hers. "I'm here."

Arthur pushed her onto her back and reached to pull down her underwear. The brushing of his fingertips on her inner thighs prompted a whimper from her. The pace he was taking was a surprise, but welcome all the same. As she kicked off her panties, she felt her breasts tighten. She arched, gasping as the fabric she was wearing slid across her stiffened nipples. When she wanted to remove his briefs, she discovered he'd taken them off. She grasped his cock - the head was already slick with his arousal. With a short moan, she smoothed it down the rest of him. He bucked into her hand and crawled between her legs, nudging them further apart with his knees.

Her body wasn't quite ready when he suddenly drove into her, burying himself completely, and she hissed at the stretch of his burning length inside her. Instead of giving her time to adjust, Arthur began pumping steadily. Feeling every inch of him against her sensitive flesh threatened to flood her senses. Since the first time they'd come together, there'd barely been an hour when she hadn't wanted him. The pressure of him finally filling her stole her breath. The short hair at his groin tickled her swelling clit, and she felt herself growing wet. With her feet planted on both sides of his legs, she clutched his shoulders and lifted her hips to meet him.

As he boosted himself up onto his hands, her own fell away from him. She licked her lips, wanting to admire him. But when she reached to turn on the bedside lamp, he grabbed her wrist and pushed it to the pillow, next to her head. He let go just as quickly. The light from the windows was low, but she could tell he wasn't looking at her. His eyes were shut tight and he was turned away. "Arthur," she said, trying to stroke his cheek.

He shook his head, shoving her away as his movements deepened and sped up. The blunt tip of him was hitting her cervix, the sensation traveling to her tail bone, up her spine, until she could almost feel him in the back of her throat. It nearly hurt and was bringing her out of the haze of her arousal. Watching him grit his teeth above her, she realized that what was a blissful coupling for her, an act confirming the strength of their connection, may have been something else for him. There was pain in the lines of his face as he fucked her. She yearned to comfort him.

But every time she tried to hold or caress him, he wouldn't let her.

Arthur's grunts raised in pitch as the rhythm of his pounding thrusts started to stutter. But he was still inching her up the mattress, and Sarah had to hold the headboard to stop herself from moving up too far and hitting her head. His moan was short as he slammed into her one last time, head dropping. She closed her eyes when she felt the throbbing of his cock, legs holding him inside her as his release hit her walls.

Slowly, as he was gasping for air, she dragged her palms over his hips, then traced up his chest. He lowered himself to his elbows and let his nose graze her cheek, before rolling off her body and twisting to face the wall. It took awhile for him to catch his breath. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

The last thing she wanted was for him to regret being with her. Snuggling his back, she put her arm around his waist. "Don't be. If you’d be enjoying yourself, I would’ve loved it." At her reassurance, he covered the hand she rested on his stomach. She pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. "We didn't talk yesterday," she said, her toes running along his calf. "You owe me a joke."

His voice was thick with sleepiness when he answered. "What do almond trees and Arkham have in common?"

She thought it over, but couldn't come up with a guess. She was terrible at figuring out his punchlines. "I don't know. What?"

"They're full of nuts."

Though there was a smile in his voice, she thought she detected hurt there, too. But she snorted and gave him a playful pinch. "That's terrible."

He chuckled, relaxing into the mattress, and leaned into her embrace. "Yeah."

Shortly thereafter, the first hint Arthur had fallen asleep was his even, heavy breathing. It was a consolation. For all Sarah knew, he hadn’t slept since Tuesday. Carefully, she removed her palm from his now loose grasp, slid away from him, and looked down at him. Hair obscured his face, but she could see his lips were parted. The soft snores he exhaled made her smile, and she kissed his shoulder, careful not to wake him. She got out of bed, pulled on her sweatpants, and tip-toed to out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

After cleaning up in the bathroom, she made her way to the table in her dining nook, picking up the Arkham file on the way. It was thick. She stared at the cover after sitting with it, screwing up her mouth. Pawing through the folder would be a violation of Arthur’s privacy, which she’d sought to respect. But doing so might spare him the pain of explanations. With that thought, it would be easy to justify perusing it. And whatever was in there had affected him profoundly. If things went to shit, she needed to know what she was dealing with. Gingerly, she opened the file.

A psychiatric history and evaluation was what she first came across. She’d seen that kind of document before when preparing child protection matters for court. She skimmed it, noting Penny had been diagnosed with delusional psychosis and narcissistic personality disorder. Sarah read further, until the word “lobotomy” stopped her. Ms. Fleck had undergone an involuntary transorbital lobotomy in 1961. Sarah winced, both for her and Arthur.

In college, she’d taken a couple psychology and law courses before completing her studies. That type of lobotomy had been alarmingly popular then. It had been seen as a miracle, and been touted on television and magazine covers. All one needed to perform it was an ice pick and a hammer. It had been used to treat mania, delusions, and a whole host of other mental disorders. And they had been used to quiet troubling, female patients.

But the side effects were severe. Apathy, lethargy, and the general dulling of emotion were only a few. And that was when the procedure was considered a success. Arthur had said he didn’t know what was wrong with his mother. Apparently, no one had bothered to tell him what had been done.

A few pages over, there was a child adoption application from the City of Gotham Department of Health. She was confused. He’d never mentioned being adopted (though, she thought, he may have wanted to keep that information to himself). She didn’t understand why it was in Ms. Fleck’s Arkham file. But it looked valid, the city’s seal embossed prominently, next to the Gotham City Orphanage’s director’s signature.

It listed the child’s name as “Unknown (Child was abandoned),” and gave an estimated birth date of 11/21/1946. That meant two things. Arthur was a lot younger than he looked (briefly, she hoped he wouldn’t mind being involved with an older woman - they’d never discussed their ages). And he’d probably been caring for his mother since he was fifteen. There was a bitter irony in being adopted and then having to be the caretaker.

Photos of a little boy with sad eyes, his body bruised and painfully thin, were next. Realizing they were Arthur, she swallowed. Newspaper clippings with lurid headlines accompanied them: “House of Terror for Mother and her Son;” “Mother of Adopted Child Allowed Her Son’s Abuse.” Her fingers trembled as she picked them up. One stated he was three years old at the time, while the other said six. There were also details she didn’t want to know. And each article framed the situation differently - one treated Penny as a victim, the other as a perpetrator.

Sarah’s jaw clenched as she turned to a transcript of a psychiatric interview. She couldn’t force herself to read all of it, but she read enough:

_Dr. Stoner: We went over this Penny. You adopted him. We have all the paperwork right here._

_P._ _Fleck: That_ _’s not true. Thomas had that all made up so it stayed our secret._

_Dr. Stoner: You also stood by while one of your boyfriends repeatedly abused your adopted son and battered you. Penny, your son was found tied to the radiator in your filthy apartment, malnourished, with multiple bruises across his body and severe trauma to his head._

_P. Fleck: I never heard him crying. He_ _’s always been such a happy little boy._

Sarah closed the file and took a deep breath. Tears threatened to spill over. She’d read worse cases before, far worse. But knowing this had happened to Arthur, that remarkable man sleeping in the other room, made it personal. It also clarified a lot. The mood swings, his social challenges, his condition. And the way he’d briefly frozen almost every time she’d touched him unexpectedly before they’d first made love.

The wine she’d been drinking the night before was still open on the counter. It was early morning, but she poured herself a glass anyway and took a long drink. God, she was really starting to tear up now. If she wasn’t careful, her stupid blubbering would wake Arthur. She held her breath as she went to the fire escape. Then she leaned on the railing and allowed herself to cry quietly, only for two or three minutes, for the first time since she’d said goodbye to her father.

The sun had started to rise by the time Arthur joined her. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He’d put her pajama bottoms and his red sweater back on. And his cigarettes were in hand. He stayed a couple of feet behind her. “When did you start smoking?” he teased gently.

She huffed, rubbing her face. “I just needed some air.”

“Hm,” he answered. She heard him light-up and take a drag off his cigarette. Then he padded to the railing and looked down at the street. Even with his change in position, he was a foot away. Too far away for her liking. “You looked at the file.”

“Of course I looked at the file.”

After a while his voice came, raspy and hardened with an edge. “Penny Fleck… You know, I’ve always hated that name.” She watched as he puffed away, smoke leaving his nostrils as he talked around his cigarette. “My mother used to tell me God gave me my condition to spread joy and laughter. But it was her. Or one of her boyfriends.” He chuckled. “I use to think that my life was a tragedy. But now I realize it’s a fucking comedy.”

Neither spoke. Sarah couldn’t remember the last time she was at a loss for words. But every phrase, every sentence that came to mind felt hollow. She was angry. At Penny for not helping Arthur before she’d been lobotomized. At the boyfriend that had terrorized them both. At a system that would allow a child, _a child,_ to take care of a woman who may have been responsible for his abuse. As she studied Arthur’s profile, she wondered if he was aware of how abnormal his situation was. If he’d deemed his life a tragedy, he must have been. It pained her.

But not as much as his next words. “I’m not worth you being sad about. Just forget me.”

She couldn’t believe the audacity of him going from nearly splitting her in two a couple hours ago to now suggesting she leave him. “You’re ridiculous,” she scoffed.

“My whole life’s been a lie. I’m no one,” he bit out. “I’m nothing.”

Sarah made a decision. He’d been brave enough to come to her apartment when he’d been vulnerable. Maybe she could be brave, too. She slid up next to him. “That’s not true,” she said, wrapping an arm around his back at the waist. “You’re Arthur Fleck and I love you.”

Arthur stilled completely, eyes darting to hers before going to his stockinged feet. “You- You don’t mean that, Sarah.” The crack in his voice broke her heart. He caught the railing in a white-knuckle grip, a strained laugh leaving his throat. “You feel bad for me. But you can’t- can’t love me.”

Exasperation filled her, but she did her best to hide it. She didn’t want to agitate or, worse, hurt him. He’d had enough of that. And it wasn’t his fault he didn’t know how great he was. “How could I not?” she asked, squeezing him closer and caressing his cheek with her other hand.

When he clutched her fingers, he did it so tightly it hurt. “You’re so smart and pretty and _nice_. You’re everything I’m not.” A dry sob escaped him. She could see he was trying to hold himself together. He was doing a decent job. “You deserve better than… You’d be fine without me.”

“I _would_ be fine,” she started, stroking his hair. He flinched. “I’d be living, working. I’d be content. But I wouldn’t be as happy.” Despite her words, he was still stiff as a board. She lowered her head to kiss his bicep. “How can I get you to believe me, hm?”

He huffed and rolled his red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t know. I _want_ to.” Shrugging, he laughed lightly. “I’m not exactly used to hearing it.” After a final puff, he flicked his cigarette away and slowly angled his body to face her. “I’ll try.”

She smiled, wanting to meet him where he was. “All right.” Then she hugged him around the neck and pushed her lips to his. When he put a gentle hand in her hair, she tilted her head to deepen their kiss. She leaned her forehead to his nose when they parted. “I love you, Mr. Fleck.”

He embraced her tightly, bringing her against his chest, and she closed her eyes. “Good,” he breathed next to her ear. She nuzzled at his shoulder when he pressed a soft kiss to her hairline, then laid his cheek against her head. “Good.”


	19. Chapter 19

Sarah started peppering him with questions by early afternoon: how he'd learned about the Arkham file, if the "Thomas" in the transcript was Thomas Wayne and that's why Penny had been writing him, if he remembered any of what was described in the newspaper articles. Arthur tried not to mind - he knew she was attempting to be helpful. But his answers were short. All her inquiries seemed to do was pry him out of the daze a third of him had been in since she'd said she loved him. He was desperately trying to use that admission, even as he doubted it was true, to stop his intrusive thoughts.

His brain kept coming up with ways he could finally be free of Penny. Since he'd gone to bed, he'd envisioned how he could kill her. The worst part wasn't what he was conjuring. It was that it didn't really bother him, not in the way he'd imagined it would. What disturbed him most was that if she died, he would have even less money for rent. And that Sarah would be horrified if she knew what he was thinking.

It was confusing. He didn't have a lot of memories from when he was a child. The good ones that existed felt invalid now. The rare Christmas presents they'd been able to afford. Listening to music together. Dancing with Penny, his tiny feet on hers. What he'd learned contradicted them all. He wondered if they'd been figments he'd invented to give himself some sort of normal identity. And if the affection he'd felt, the sacrifices he'd made to take care of her all these years, had been worth anything.

Arthur didn't understand how he could love Sarah as completely as he thought he'd grown to when he felt so much loathing. He wished he had been ready to return her sentiment on the fire escape. It would have been nice, with the sunrise reflecting in her eyes. He could have pretended to be the romantic hero. But the mess going on in his head and his disbelief would have spoiled it. He didn't trust himself to say it right, anyway.

That evening, when he told Sarah he needed to go back to his apartment for the night, he knew she was disappointed. But he had to get home to check the mail, messages, and to process everything. Her constant attention wouldn't have allowed him space to write in his journal. And, despite her apparent forgiveness, he still felt shame for the way he'd used her to try to fuck his demons away. He'd barely touched her the rest of the day. It hadn't seemed to bother her, though. She’d taken every opportunity she had to put her hands on him. He hadn't stopped her.

There was no mail when he got home, and he only had one message. He didn't bother playing it. Instead, he stripped off his trousers, grabbed his journal, and went straight to bed. He was still exhausted and hoped sleep would claim him quickly, but he didn't have that luck. He'd written by the light of the lamp, giggling, pen strokes more hurried and larger than usual. "Sarah said she loves me! I don't realy beleev her. It must be a joke. But she kissed me so nicely after she said it. If it's true, she's kind of wierd. But I am to so its ok."

The writings didn't stay sweet. "Penny lied to me. Thomas Wayne isn't my father. My parents are probably dead somewhere. At least I wuldn't have to deal with them. What the hell did she adopt me for? To feed her and do her lawndry?!"

Laying in Penny's bed Sunday morning, languidly smoking, he tried to maintain a state of calm. He'd only slept a couple of hours, and he'd woken up with more negative thoughts. He'd done the breathing exercises he'd learned, and tried pacing back and forth. Self-soothing with nicotine and jerking off gave him only mild relief. It was strange to be alone in the apartment, surrounded by all of his mother's things. But at least he could do what he wanted without worrying about disturbing her.

And he didn't have to face her. _Fuck_. How was he going to face her?

Before he'd left, Sarah had, mercifully, said they'd put off dealing with Penny until Monday morning. She hadn't given him the option to say no, telling him she'd already called her boss and made arrangements to be late. He'd sunken into the couch and scowled at his lap, frustrated she hadn't giving him a choice. He'd said, "I can't see her. I don't know what I'll do if I see her."

She'd stood next to him, run her hands through his hair, and held him against her. It'd been clear she hadn't understood he wanted to hurt Penny. "I don't expect you to," she'd told him. "We'll talk to the doctor. You'll have to deal with it eventually. I'll be there to help, all right?" He'd agreed with a nod and a sigh. Then she'd kissed his head and said she'd be over the next night.

At that thought he finally got up, stretching and padding into the kitchen in his briefs and red sweater, the same one he'd been wearing for two days. He pushed the "play" button on his answering machine, then reached into the cabinet to get out coffee.

"This message is for Arthur Fleck. My name is Shirley Woods. I work on the Murray Franklin show."

Arthur stared at the machine, then stepped over to it, coffee scoop in hand.

"I don't know if you're aware, but Murray played a clip of your stand-up on the show recently, and we've gotten an amazing response." It took a few moments for what she was saying to sink in. Then, as the message played, he ran his hand over his torso, then his chest and shoulder, ending on his forehead. He wasn't hallucinating. "And, Murray asked if I would reach out to see if you would come on as his guest. He'd love to talk to you, maybe do some of your act next Thursday. If that sounds good to you, call me back today or Monday at 895-555-4836."

At first Arthur thought it was a prank call. He played the tape again. The woman sounded professional enough. He wrote down the number, then called it. After a few rings, it went to a machine, with a greeting saying it was Shirley Woods at Live! With Murray Franklin. He hung up before he could say anything, holding his breath. "Fucking crazy," he said to himself as he shook his head.

When he played the tape for Sarah after dinner, her reaction wasn’t as enthusiastic as he’d hoped. Her eyebrows drew together and she was quiet for too long. “I don’t think you should do it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “But this could be my big break!”

“He mocked you on live TV,” she said.

“I know that,” he huffed. “But I haven’t had any work for two weeks.” He picked up his journal and flipped through it. “I’ve already written new jokes. And they’re good!” he said, trying to convince her. “Better than the ones at Pogo’s!”

He thought she was looking at him in pity. It irritated him. “I’m going on,” he said sternly. As soon as he heard the harshness of his voice, he frowned and closed his eyes. “I know they want to make fun of me. I’m not stupid,” he said quietly. “I just want a chance for people to see me.”

At the sound of her stepping in front of him, his eyes met hers. He realized what he had initially taken for pity may have been closer to understanding. And, perhaps, the love she claimed to have for him. She touched him lightly, her fingers brushing the back of the hand that held his notebook. “I don’t have to agree with you to support you. If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

As he exhaled, he felt his shoulders ease. “Thank you.”

She stroked his cheek. "You want to be a comedian? Go be a comedian."

~~~~~

Arthur was in the middle of changing the pillowcases, sheets, and blankets on Penny's mattress when Sarah called for him. He'd washed the linens a week ago. But she insisted on spending the night on the couch, saying she couldn't sleep in his mother's bed. She was being absurd but was too stubborn to listen. He hoped doing this would convince her to sleep next to him, or at least let him take the sofa instead.

Once finished, he padded to the bathroom, asking himself what she could want. He'd told her taking a bath was fine, that he'd kept himself busy all day trying to write and do housework (and, he hadn't told her, watching Murray Franklin tapes). He could manage another hour. Had she forgotten to get the soap from the sink? Opening the door only an inch or two, he peeked in, hot air hitting his face. "What?"

"Get in here," she said, her voice reflecting slightly off the tiles.

His brow furrowed. Maybe she had a zipper or button on the back of her blouse that needed undoing. He sidled inside the pink and green room, closing the door behind him to keep the relative cold of the rest of the apartment from seeping in. Then he saw that she was turned around in the tub, looking at him expectantly and smiling. "Come on."

"I took a shower earlier," he said.

"That's not why I called you."

Did she want to have sex? After he asked, blushing slightly, she chuckled. "No," she said. "I tried that once. The tub’s too small and the water washes all the slick off. I just want you to sit with me."

_Okay_. His eyes wandered over her form as he stepped to the side of the tub. The water was just under her breasts, and he wondered if him hopping in would make it overflow. Oh well. If they had to wipe up afterward, it'd wouldn’t be a big deal. He turned away, feeling silly for still being shy around her, and got undressed, tossing his clothes in the same pile as hers.

Carefully, Arthur stepped into the bath, cupping himself, foot going between her calves. The tub was pretty short, but seemed wide enough. Still, he couldn't quite figure out how they were both going to fit in there. And where'd she gotten this idea. He hung onto the wall to keep steady and looked down at her, an eyebrow quirked at her. Sarah laughed and extended her hand to him. He took it and she guided him to sit down between her legs, his back to her. She seemed to sense he was unsure of what she wanted him to do. When she put her hands on his shoulders and pulled, he leaned back against her chest.

She adjusted her legs around his hips and wrapped her arms around him. "Are you comfortable?"

He wasn't, not really. But it was nice all the same. "Yeah." Slowly, he let the back of his head rest on her shoulder. "I just need a cigarette."

She swatted his abdomen and pressed her lips to his ear. "I'm going to get you to quit that nasty habit if it's the last thing I do."

The warmth of the room was making his eyelids heavy, and he sighed. As the minutes passed, his frame relaxed, until he was almost slack against her. He stroked her calf gently and smiled to himself. He'd imagined an embarrassing amount of scenarios between them, things he wouldn't tell her. But it had never occurred to him to think about this simple intimacy. He bit his lip, his eyes growing wet, and his grip on her leg tightened.

He daydreamed they'd still be together, years from now, living in a nicer part of Gotham, since she, mistakenly, loved the city so damn much. Sarah would do her legal work, whatever it was, and he'd do stand-up. She'd be in the audience of his shows, and give him feedback he'd mostly ignore, because she seemed to know nothing about comedy. When she got home from a long day, he'd provide an ear and a punchline to cheer her up. They'd fuck on sheets that weren't scratchy, in an apartment better than his own. And he'd finally be happy. He laughed softly.

She kissed his jaw. "Let me in on the joke?"

"I was thinking about the future," he said, then laughed again, a little harder. "I don't remember the last time I did that. I thought dying would make more sense." She squeezed him tighter in response, and he heard her breath hitch. He'd made her uncomfortable. But at least he'd been honest. He shook his head. "It's fine. Talk to me. Tell me about your family."

It took her a few moments to speak. "My sister's married to a bank manager. She stays home with their three children - I can't even imagine having one."

"You never wanted kids?"

She snorted. "It's too early for this conversation, Arthur." Still, she answered him. "Staying home, changing diapers, and being responsible for someone else's basic survival? No. That wasn't for me." She clicked her tongue, stroking his chest. "God got me in the end, though. I had to do all that for my father."

After a long pause, Arthur sat up and turned so that his back was against the side of the tub. He drew her legs into his folded lap, her knees to rest against his chest, then continued caressing her. He watched his hands as they moved, desperate to ask the next question, but uncertain if he should. "How... How did you feel when your father died?"

She flexed her toes and he looked up at her. When no answer came, he winced. "I shouldn't have asked that. I'm s-"

"Relieved," Sarah whispered, so quietly he almost couldn't hear her. She cleared her throat and repeated herself, staring off into the distance. "Relieved." She shook her head. "I can't believe I just said that out loud." Her eyes went to his, urgency in them. "You have to understand I'd already mourned him. He wasn't himself anymore. He didn't remember his name. He didn't know who I was. It was going on for years and years..." A tear started down her cheek, but she wiped it away. "When he was gone, I could finally leave. He didn't hurt anymore. And his sickness couldn't hurt me."

Her answer comforted him. If someone as perfect as he thought Sarah was could feel that way about their parent dying, maybe it was okay for him to no longer want Penny in his life. Maybe, as long as he didn’t actually harm her, the hatred in his heart and visions he had of snuffing her out didn't mean he was as bad a person as he'd assumed. And Sarah differentiating between illness and the person suffering with it soothed him. That was something he wasn't able to do for himself.

He bent his head to kiss her knee, then pressed his chin to it and let out a sharp breath. His afflictions and negative thoughts were a core piece of him and informed his daily life. They were part of who Arthur Fleck was. But if she had that outlook when it came to her father, perhaps she could have it when it came to him. Maybe that's why, despite knowing what she did, she'd allowed herself to love him.

His heart started pounding, and he closed his eyes at the realization. _It wasn't a lie_ , he thought, hugging her folded legs tighter to him. _I think she does love me_.

Her slight sniffle caught his attention. She was smirking sadly, eyes on the surface of the water. "Thanks for bringing out the emotional baggage I try to hide," she teased, splashing him gently. Then she got up and grabbed the towel he'd taken out for her earlier.

Arthur swallowed as he watched her, the way she dried herself from bottom to top instead of top to bottom. She rubbed at her feet, her legs, then her breasts before wrapping the thread-bare cloth under her arms. She walked out of the bathroom just as he wanted to speak.

Then he remembered he needed to get a towel for himself. He let out the water, carefully stepped out of the tub and patted himself dry, then looked in the mirror. His loose curls and waves had returned due to the humidity of the room. He raked his fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his face. After putting his thermal shirt and lounge pants back on, he took a couple deep breaths and went into the living room.

She'd already put on her nightgown and was getting situated on the sofa. He stepped to her. "I can't let you sleep on the couch."

"I'll be okay," she said, brushing her hair. "I really don't mind."

As his excitement grew, his hands clenched. "But I changed the sheets. You can sleep with me."

She pulled a small jar of lotion out of her overnight bag and opened it. "You shouldn't have bothered, Arthur."

"It wasn't a bother."

She dabbed the cream on various areas of her face. "The couch is fine. Don't trouble yourself over-"

"I love you." Arthur’s voice was raspy, more forceful than he had meant it to be, the words sudden. But it was the only way he'd been able to push them out. His brows lifted and he held his breath as he waited for her response.

Her hand stilled, mid-rub, on her cheek. It took a couple seconds for her to gaze up. When it did she was beaming, then she started massaging her face again. "I love you, too."

A wide, toothy smile broke across his face as he exhaled sharply. Sitting next to her, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. "I should have said it a week ago."

At her snort, some of his tension left him. "If you had said it a week ago, I wouldn't have taken it seriously." She smeared cream on the tip of his nose. At his side-long glance and grimace, she giggled and kissed his cheek. "But I do now."

They quietly sat together while he wondered what to do. He was feeling really good. But now that he'd said it, was he supposed to pick her up, carry her to the bedroom, and make love to her? He wasn't in the mood - his anxiousness had put a damper on that. And he was tired from lack of sleep and the heat of the bath.

Thankfully, she stood and saved him from making a mistake. "We should to go bed," she said, taking his hand and pulling him up. She started towards the bedroom. "Tomorrow's going to be a lot."


	20. Chapter 20

The doctor at the hospital met with them in his office. Penny had had an ischemic stroke, which weren't uncommon in women of advanced age, especially if they had a history of smoking. It was unknown if the lobotomy had increased the risk. The left side of her body was experiencing severe paralysis, and she could barely stand. She was also having trouble speaking and understanding speech. But she did appear to know she was in the hospital.

Sarah observed Arthur's face as the doctor rattled through the information. The expression he wore was neutral enough, but she saw his neck tighten on and off, and his eyes remained downcast. He was also chain smoking more than she'd ever seen. When the doctor would pause for a reaction or ask a question, Arthur's responses were curt.

"There isn't a need to keep her here much longer," the doctor intoned. "Her life isn't at risk. She should be discharged by the end of the week."

At that, Arthur closed his eyes. Sarah could guess what he was thinking: that he'd be stuck with Penny, again, except now he'd have to do more for her. That assumption must have hit harder than usual, given what he'd learned three days ago. His posture became rigid the longer they sat there. After he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the doctor's wide desk, the doctor stood and told them to take their time, giving Sarah a soft look as he left. As soon as the door shut, she put her arm around Arthur.

He started laughing humorlessly and rubbed the back of his neck. "It'd be easier if she'd died."

"You don't mean that," she said.

"Yes, I do."

She pressed her lips together. "It's normal to have mixed feelings."

“I don’t have mixed feelings,” he replied.

Kneading his shoulder, she chose her next sentences carefully, not wanting to unduly influence him. But she hoped could lift some of the weight he carried. "There are options for her care."

Lighting up again, he furrowed his brow and stuck his pack of cigarettes back in his pocket. "I don't have any money, Sarah," he said tersely.

"There are programs you can apply for."

He scoffed and looked at her skeptically. "They cut all those."

"Federal programs, not Gotham services. They won't be cut because the Waynes or whoever else in this city doesn't want to pay taxes." That made him smile crookedly. "We should be able to get the paperwork from the hospital social worker - they deal with this all the time. We'll fill it out and you can decide whether to submit it or not." At his nearly imperceptible nod, she leaned into him. "You've taken care of her twenty years, Arthur. You've given her enough."

After speaking with the social worker and completing the applications, they walked by Penny's room. He stopped outside, his grip on Sarah's hand tightening. She watched his narrowed eyes, the way he worried his lip. "Do you want to go in?" she asked gently.

Anger flashed across his face, his nostril twitching. But after a few minutes, he released a long breath and shook his head. "No," he rasped. "I don't need to."

~~~~~

After leaving the hospital, Sarah had gone back to her apartment to get her notes and presentation. A lick of excitement went through her as she walked into Matt’s office. What she was about to go over was the culmination of hours and hours of off-the-books work, and she was relieved she'd no longer have to keep the information secret. With all the evidence she'd collected and put together, she thought there’d be a good chance she'd be heard.

She sat on the other side of Matt's desk, wearing her best skirt suit and modestly ruffled blouse, and explained everything she'd found so far: the properties' lack of disrepair; the corresponding dates of the Wayne Foundation's motions and Renew Corp.'s letters; the matches of employees listed on the foundation's tax returns and registered agents of the corporation; and the ridiculous conversation she'd had with one Anthony Mancuso at the gala.

It took awhile. When Sarah was done, she leaned back against the chair she was perched on, unbuttoning her top collar. "So," she said when Matt didn't answer. "Are you going to stop this shit?" She ducked her head slightly to study his expression. He was squinting. And she thought he looked a little glum.

He continued to peruse his copy of her notes, tapping his pen on each line as though it meant something. "Your work is very impressive, Sarah. You put a lot of effort into this."

She smiled widely and let out a long breath. "Thank you."

"But I already explained that we can't simply drop this case."

The initial resistance didn't come as a surprise, but frustrated her nonetheless. "I'm not a lawyer," she said. "I don't have any duty to these people or their organization or foundation or whatever."

His gaze was weary when their eyes met. "They have us on retainer-"

She leaned forward. "Do you really want the Waynes to be able to own more of this city?” As her indignation grew, she stood and stepped behind her seat. "I've looked it up, Matt. Both directly and indirectly, they're the largest landowners here."

"What do you know about the Waynes?" Matt countered. It was one of the few times he had ever sounded annoyed at her. "You're a transplant. Gotham owes them a lot."

Rapidly, she was losing any hope that reasoning with him would affect anything. But she continued to try. Maybe changing her tack would help. "Let's say it wasn't the Waynes," she started, putting her elbows on the high-back. "It's some other temporarily benevolent billionaire. If we win this case, it's going to set a precedent for property to be seized and shoved into private hands. It'll be easier for anyone to do this in the future, again-"

"Sarah, stop."

"-and again." Sarah huffed, gesturing towards him with an upturned palm. "I've always thought you were a good person, Matt. I can't believe you approve of this!"

"It's not that simple. You're experienced enough to know that," he said, raising his voice slightly. "The Wayne Foundation is our largest client. Without their money, we wouldn't exist.” Counting on each finger, he continued. “They're buying your groceries, keeping you in your apartment, allowing you to dress as nicely as you do."

Sarah felt the hair on her neck stand up at the idea she would be "allowed" to do _anything_. "You're scared of them."

"No,” he breathed. “I'm being pragmatic."

She folded her arms over her chest. "Yeah, well, your pragmatism is going to hurt a lot of people."

Matt stood and leaned forward onto his desk with his hands. It wasn't a threatening posture, but a tired one. "This was the first Wayne case you were entrusted with. You were so damn happy about it." Shaking his head, he sighed. "The other lawyers here didn't think you were ready, but I knew you were. Turns out you were too ready." He chucked sadly. "I'm sorry."

Sarah stilled, her mouth opened slightly. "Are you... Are you firing me?" As she waited for his answer, she mentally went over her financial situation. A couple months of pay were in her savings account, her checking had about a thousand dollars in it. She thought she'd be able to get unemployment, but there was a waiting period, and-

"No. The work you do on the family cases is excellent. I like you. And Patricia would never forgive me." He gestured towards her with his pen. "But other people in this firm _would_ let you go. If you breathe a word of this to anyone else, you will wind up losing your job. Do you understand me?"

Gulping, she looked down at the floor and nodded. "Thank you," she said meekly. A sense of defeat, mixed with relief at still having work, settled in her stomach. It caused her to feel like the smallest person on Earth.

She exited the office before he dismissed her and sat at her desk. She still had her copy of her notes at home. But she didn't know what do to with them. Trying to distract herself, she dug out the list of upcoming family court dates and corresponding files, sinking into the routine of them until her mind went numb.

~~~~

It had been close to seven when she'd gotten to Arthur's, later than she'd told him. She hadn't wanted him to see her upset, thinking he had enough to worry about. He'd kissed her at the door and frowned when she hadn't responded enthusiastically. After a quick sorry, she'd kicked off her shoes and said, "I had a really shitty day and need some time." Then she went straight to the bedroom and lay down. She'd left the door open, though, not wanting to shut him out.

She hadn't been laying long, maybe fifteen minutes, when she heard him approach. Wondering what he would do, she pretended not to notice he was standing behind her, next to the bed. It only took a couple minutes for him to climb in next to her. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Amish."

God, she could tell this was going to be terrible. She rolled her eyes, the corner of her lips turning up. "Amish who?"

"Amished you."

Unable to help herself, she chuckled. When he nuzzled at her face, she twisted her torso to look at up him and drew him down to her mouth. One of his arms went around her head as she kissed him deeply, his other hand holding himself up. "Thank you. I needed that," she said. "Was that an old joke?"

"No, it just came to me. It happens sometimes." He stood, then. "Spaghetti's on the stove."

Stretching, she sat up and followed him to the kitchen. He already had a plate out for her, so she served herself, listening as he continued to talk. "I mailed the forms we filled out."

She scooped sauce out of a second pot. "If you change your mind, you can reject the funding."

"I won't," he scoffed as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

Turning around, she looked to see if he had dried parmesan somewhere on the counter. She didn't find any, but what she did see stopped her. There, in his pile of mail on the breakfast bar, was an unopened red letter. That same terrible feeling of disappointment that Arthur had helped her through returned.

She reached out for the envelope, biting her lip. There was no return address, but she recognized the font Penny's name was printed in. It was definitely from Renew Corp. She wasn't ready to talk with him about this, to admit she'd failed everyone, failed _him_.

But, she supposed, she was being pushed into doing the right thing. She had a seat at the breakfast bar and patted the stool next to her. He followed eagerly, a puzzled expression on his face. She went over a simplified version of the same explanation she'd given Matt. It came easier this time, having had that earlier practice. Mid-way through, Arthur lit a cigarette and rested his forehead on the side of his hand, elbow on the counter. He seemed to understand well enough, but became quieter and quieter as she went on, staring at the letter threatening to kick him out in ninety days.

"You're going to keep getting these letters. They're trying to bully you." She felt her patience with the situation slip away the more she spoke. "But what they're saying isn't true. It'll take a long time before they can do anything. It has to go through the cour-"

"Is this why you're seeing me?" he interrupted.

Holding the fork just under her mouth, she stared at him. "No. Of course not," she said as she took her last bite of dinner. "That doesn't make sense. This is a legal issue." It was a logical answer, but apparently not the one he wanted. When she reached to touch his bicep, he pulled away from her, taking her plate and going to the kitchen. "Arthur, I found out your building was involved last week."

He started rinsing her dish. "Before or after we-"

"After." Sarah stood but didn't follow, remaining on the far side of the counter.

He wasn't looking at her when he turned around and took a drag off his cigarette. "You should have told me."

She leaned onto the bar with her forearms. "And give you more shit to deal with? Are you kidding?"

"I've dealt with worse," he bit out, flicking ash into the sink.

Her tone was snappier than she meant it to be. "I’ve been working on it for weeks. It's not like I’ve been doing nothing." She shook her head, knowing she wasn't only upset at his stubbornness and refusal to see she’d been trying to shield him. But also at all the time and energy she had put into caring about this case. She was irritated at her powerlessness. And heartbroken at the whole damn thing. Dropping her head to look at the counter-top, she sighed. "Dammit, Arthur. Why can't our first argument be about what restaurant to go to, or what movie to see, or whose apartment we're spending the night at?"

There was no answer to her attempt at cutting the tension between them. He simply stood, unmoving except for the twitch of his fingers as he fiddled with his cigarette. His voice was low when he finally said the wrong thing. "Penny lied to me all my life. I never thought you would."

The cut of those words went deep. Heat went up her neck and face, and she knew she was turning red. "If I had shown up at your apartment, soaking and in the state you were in, telling you to get rid of a razor, would you have told me?"

He flinched at that, but she continued anyway. "No, you wouldn't have." Stepping to the entrance of the kitchen, she threw up her hand. "And don't act as if you've been completely honest. You must have done more than drop off a letter for Thomas Wayne to tell you about Penny's file."

Arthur nodded stiffly, then narrowed his eyes as he smoked. "I need you to leave," he said. "I have to practice."

She folded her arms over her chest. "You're doing this _again?_ " At his lack of response, she slipped on her shoes and started putting on her coat. "Fine. Be angry at me for trying to protect you." Even as the words left her, she knew she didn't mean them. But his obstinacy pissed her off. When she picked up her canvas bag, he went to her and opened the front door.

As she stepped out she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. This entire argument was stupid. They were both wrong and right, in their own ways. And they'd hurt each other. She’d been waiting to see him all day and was loathe to end the evening on a sour note. She turned around to face him. "Hey," she said, consciously softening her voice. His eyes bore into hers as he set his jaw. “Arthur, we’re being idiots.” Then she set her bag down and tried to put her arms around his neck. “Let’s not be angry. At least, not at each other.”

He caught her, gently but firmly, mid-embrace and pulled her arms away from him. "Just go," he said, then turned around and closed the door.


	21. Chapter 21

An old bed sheet had been hung from the top of the doorway leading from the hall to the living room. The joke book had been laid on the sofa, so it could easily be read with a slight angling of the head. And the cheap, brown coffee mug had been decorated with a permanent marker; it now read "Live! With Murray Franklin." Arthur had done his best to recreate the late show studio space in his humble apartment. He wanted to rehearse until he did everything correctly. Until he thought he knew how to act normal.

Sitting in front of his TV on the coffee table, wearing the same outfit that he had at Pogo's, he studied his Murray Franklin tapes, rewinding and playing them over and over again until he'd memorized the movements of the guest. He started the video again, took a drag off his cigarette and put it in a nearby ashtray, then ran behind the "curtain" he'd created. Once the walk-on music started playing, he whipped the sheet open and walked in, feigning confidence with every step. He raised his arm and waved at the audience he was imagining - they were all cheering for him and clapping. Then he walked around, pretending to shake hands, even shyly saying "hi" a couple of times, and sat on his sofa, a wide smile on his face.

Already nervous, he scoffed at himself as he tried to straighten his messily slicked back hair and crossed his legs. He faced his mother's old chair. "Hey Murray. Thanks so much for havi-" Putting his hand to his forehead, he stopped. That delivery had been too dour. He tried to sound more upbeat on his next attempt. "Hey Murray. Thank you so much for having me on the show. It's been a life long dream of mine."

Then he shook his head. He wasn't doing this right. He'd been setting up and practicing his entrance for over three hours, since he'd decided to stop trying to sleep just after six in the morning. But he couldn't get it. Standing up and straightening the waist of his pants, he went back behind the sheet to try again, taking a deep breath before popping out from behind it. The wave he gave was smaller this time, more like what he'd normally do if he wasn't trying to impress anyone. He plopped himself down on the couch and tried his greeting. He was able to say it in one go this time.

He still hadn't decided whether or not he should cross his legs. Neither felt natural. It really depended on how soft the chairs were on the set. He kept changing positions, wanting to get a feel for it. Frowning, he pushed his body up, bouncing slightly as he muttered to himself. If he could just figure out how he wanted to sit, perhaps he'd-

A heavy thump on the floor drew his attention. He saw the pistol Randall had given him, laying next to the foot of the sofa. He’d hidden it in the couch's frame after he’d considered turning it on himself the night he was fired. Before Sarah had helped him, when he’d been a waiting victim on the train. It had been another negative thought, one of a hundred that day.

Gingerly, he picked up the weapon, gazing at it as he turned it over. Holding it still felt taboo. And instead of imparting power, there was a sense of jeopardy. If someone somehow learned he had a gun, it would end any chance of the possible future that had wormed its way into his brain. He’d be remanded back to Arkham. Group therapy sessions, straitjackets, and a shitty activity room would be all he had to look forward to.

And the relationship he had with Sarah, this woman who had slipped into his orbit out of the blue, would be gone. The idea of her exiting his life agonized him. There’d be no more shared meals, no more quiet conversation during the warmth he felt after sex. She’d never come see him at another comedy gig. And he would never be able to teach her to dance with him. Everything he dreamed for himself would slip away, like it always did.

He'd be alone again.

Arthur shoved the weapon back in its hiding spot, pressing the cushion over it, hard, as if that would make it disappear. Closing his eyes, he recalled the night before, when he’d told her to leave. Not due to a need for privacy, but because he’d been seething with rage and afraid he would lose control in front of her. He never wanted to and hoped he never would.

It had taken all night and a lot of journaling to convince himself she hadn’t used him, that she actually had been trying to shelter him. And that he finally had to be truthful about his past and problems instead of hiding them. Although she’d said she trusted him the first night they'd been together, his fears had kept him dishonest. He hoped that what he’d written for Murray, the angle he was planning to take, would help fix that

After retrieving his cigarette from the ashtray on the coffee table, he got up and went to find his wallet. Sarah’s business card was still in there. He took it out and ran his thumb over the phone number. She would be at work. But there was no way he could wait until she got home to talk with her.

He was grateful for his lack of uncertainty when dialing. It only took a couple rings for her to answer. “Shaw & Associates. This is Sarah.”

“I forgive you,” he said quickly. “And I’m sorry.”

There was a brief pause. “Me, too. On both counts.”

He shrugged as though she could see him through the phone line. “I love you.”

“I need you,” she replied immediately.

“Can I come over later?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathed. Then her voice lowered. “But I thought of another way to stop what we discussed. I’ll need your help. We can either talk or fall into bed first.”

His stomach flipped at the promise her words carried. “Bed.”

She gave a throaty little laugh. “See you tonight. Bring your toothbrush.”

~~~~~

“You know,” Sarah started, peeling off her blouse. “I’ve been hot and bothered since you called me at work.”

A flush crept across Arthur's cheeks as he shut the bedroom door behind them. “Yeah?” Anticipation was causing goosebumps across his skin. Needing to be free of his clothing, he removed his cardigan and laid it across the chair.

Her hungry gaze met his when he approached her. “I had to go splash cold water on my face at least once every half hour." Gently, she pushed against his chest.

The edge of the mattress sank in slightly as he sat down. “You could’ve left early,”

After removing her skirt, leaving her in her bra and panties, she straddled his lap. “Maybe I will next time." She cupped his chin, tipped his head back, and kissed him. 

He hadn’t anticipated she’d get on top of him so quickly. A shiver ran through him as he tried to figure out where she wanted his hands. When she thrust against him, he groaned into her mouth and gripped her waist. He was pulling at her, trying to get her to rub against him again, his erection starting to strain his pants. But she had other ideas. She leaned back and started opening his dress-shirt.

Trying to keep up, he dragged his fingertips along the back of her bra. He made a valiant effort at unhooking it, before Sarah reached back and flicked it open with one hand, then tossed it on the floor. His breath hitched. The other times they’d been together, he’d seen her breasts, but had been too bashful to touch them as much as he wanted, even when she’d put his palm on them. Now he forced himself to.

They were roundish with a slight sag, but nicely shaped. He thought they fit her frame well. And the dusky hue of her nipples contrasted with the rest of her skin. Slowly, he massaged her breast with his hand, glancing up at her to make sure it was all right. He leaned his forehead against her and closed his eyes, pinching the taut peak, rolling it experimentally between his forefinger and thumb. She arched into him, and he moved his other hand to her shoulder, holding her tight.

Encouraged by her response, he bent and took her other nipple between his lips. She carded her hands through his hair and cradled his head against her, pressing up into his mouth. A whine escaped her as he laved at her areola. She tasted salty and warm, and he moaned lowly when the tip of his tongue circled her pebbled tip, his fingertips digging into the smooth skin of her back. Her nails on his scalp felt electric as he suckled at her. Sighing, he nuzzled her breasts.

Then her whisper tickled his ear. “Lean back a little. On your hands.”

He didn’t want to let go of her, but he did as she asked. The change in position at least allowed him to see more of her body, and he let his gaze fall to her center. A dark patch on her panties betrayed how wet she was. He had the urge to put his mouth on her again and taste the slight tang her arousal. Tongue darting to his upper lip, he reached to pull on the waistband of her underwear.

Playfully, she swatted his hand away. “Not yet.”

She began working on the buttons of his shirt again, her fingers becoming quicker the lower she got. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to let her undress him without helping her. It felt good, though. And the grin she wore let him know she was having fun, so he stayed still. She pecked his forehead, then slipped off his lap and knelt on the rug. Seeing her between his legs made his pulse race.

The glide of her hands down his chest, and the press of her lips that followed them caused his abdomen to twitch. She nestled against one of the “v” lines of muscle leading to his groin, then traced it with her tongue, and he bit his lip. Then her hands reached for his fly. He held his breath as she slipped the button through the hole and opened the zipper. When she tugged on his trousers, he lifted himself up so she could pull them down and off him.

Anxiety threatened to creep into him as she reached for his underwear. He tensed. She must have noticed, because she halted what she was doing and met his eyes. “Is this all right?” she breathed, stroking him through his briefs.

“Yeah,” he answered, quicker than intended.

She folded back the waistband. “Have you imagined doing this with me?”

His eyelids fluttered as his erection was freed, the swollen, red head nearly brushing her cheek. _Everyday_. “Once or twice.”

Chuckling, she kissed the top of his thigh. “So have I,” she said huskily, taking him into her hand. Then between her lips.

His eyelids screwed shut and he gasped, lips parted as his body went rigid. The sensation of being surrounded by her was overwhelming. At first he couldn't feel anything besides heat and wet, and his brain kept distractedly repeating, _oh my god, I'm in her mouth, I'm in her mouth_. Then he felt her tongue sweep across the tip of him and he grunted, digging his fingers into the comforter under him.

Soon she stopped and he opened his eyes, one at a time, to look down at her. She pressed a kiss to the side of his hard-on and smiled up at him. When she asked if it was okay for her to continue, he nodded mutely, which made her laugh. "You're adorable," she said, then wrapped her hand around him tightly. "And beautiful." The tip of her tongue traced the vein going up the side of his erection, then flicked over the slit, teasing him. His hips jerked up at the visual of her lips on his shaft, his cock disappearing between them. Slowly, he reached down and touched her head, holding loosely.

He'd seen this act done before in films. Those instances had mostly been rough and, even though the men always finished, seemed unsatisfying. Even if he was sometimes aggressive in his fantasies, he never wanted to degrade her. And he hadn't known women would actually want to do it. But Sarah’s approach was different than he'd always assumed this could be. It was warm and soft and her movements, though fervent, were gentle. And the affection behind them, the pleasure she appeared to be experiencing from doing this for him, made it all right to enjoy what she was doing.

But it still felt too passive. He wanted to participate, but with the impulse he had to drive up into her mouth, he was afraid he might hurt her. As if she could read his thoughts, she squeezed his thigh and said, "Arthur, you're not going to break me."

At that, he let himself follow his instincts and lowered himself onto his elbows, lifting his pelvis to match her motions. Her eyes locked with his as she moved up and down. But he couldn't hold her gaze for long and soon closed his eyes, tilting his head back, groaning her name. Then she moaned around him and started going faster, sucking at the tip. His hand came to her hair, weaving his fingers into it. Somehow he managed to clear his head enough to rasp, "Sarah, I'm gonna come."

She paused long enough to say, "That was the plan."

He had to snort at that, even as her lips encircled him. Of course she'd planned this. She'd seemed to have made it her personal mission to completely fuck the inexperience out of him. God, he never wanted her to stop.

Her nails traced patterns on the inside of his thigh, and he laid back completely, putting his forearm over his eyes. He brought his leg over her shoulder, drawing her up further against him as the rocking of his hips quickened. The room was starting to fade away, and it felt as though all sensitivity had become focused in the head of his cock.

After a few more sweeps of her tongue, he arched up and cried out, his frame stiffening, his calf holding her to him as he spilled into her mouth. He grasped the comforter next to his head, breath stuttering as he sucked in air and rode out the pulses of his climax. Taking his hand from her hair, she entwined their fingers and squeezed. He was glad he knew her well enough to read her meaning. Even in the throes of release, the love in that gesture made his heart clench.

It was a strange vulnerability to lay there, breathing heavily, after she’d made him come undone. But with her it was all right. He watched as she kissed his abdomen, then stood and grabbed a glass of water from the bedside stand and took a few drinks. As the haze of his orgasm faded, he sighed. It would take a few hours for him to be ready to go again. He didn't want to leave her unsatisfied. Boosting himself up on his elbow, he asked, "Um, can I do anything for you?"

She cracked up at the question, causing him to frown until she sat next to him. "I can think of a lot of things you can do for me. But for now-" She took his hand and pressed it between her legs, guiding his fingers to dip beneath the wetness of her panties and into her heat. "-this would be wonderful."

His gaze went from where she'd put his hand to her eyes. Then he shrugged out of his shirt and pulled down her underwear until they both fell to the floor. Allowing himself to melt into her, his hands went into her hair as his tongue traced her lips until they parted. He held her to him, breathing heavily as his mouth groped at hers. She gave a needy moan as she laid down, half on her side, bringing him with her and slinging a leg over his thigh.

He nestled her ear, nibbled at her jaw, then kissed her neck and collarbone. Letting his hand drift down her stomach, he eagerly dipped between her thighs, through her patch of curly hair, and tried to caress her the way she'd shown him the first time. “Like this?” He tugged gently at her outer folds before flicking his fingertips over her clitoral hood.

Sarah shuddered and bucked into his movements. “Just like that.” At the quickening of her breath, he held himself up to observe her face, wanting to watch her reactions without the need to come distracting him. He could tell she was struggling to keep her eyes open, her brows lifting with every brush of his fingers. “You make me ache,” she sighed.

The corner of his mouth quirked up as he took in her words. The way she’d said it must have meant that was good. “I make you ache?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, then bit her lip on a groan. “I imagine you inside me everyday. Sometimes for a couple minutes.” He tensed as her touch trailed down the lean muscles of his chest, then his stomach. “Often for a lot longer. And always at the most inappropriate times,” she laughed softly. She grasped his hand and guided his fingers to tease her opening. “I can’t get enough of you.”

He was flustered by her brazen admission, which he knew was ridiculous, considering his fingertips were running along the edges of her entrance. Blushing, he concentrated on her shoulder and swallowed. “Oh,” he chuckled bashfully. Wanting to return her sentiment, he borrowed her phrase. “I don't want you to get enough of me.”

Shivering, she rolled onto her back. “Arthur, fuck me,” she breathed. “Please.” He got up on his knees, wanting to take a closer peek at what he was doing. Her inner lips were swollen and spread open, waiting for him to enter her. And she was glistening, her slick so abundant it was nearly dripping from her.

He wanted to be playful. "You have been waiting for this, huh?" he deadpanned. It delighted him when she giggled and covered her face, then blindly tried to grind against him. Slowly, his fore- and middle fingers and buried them inside her. 

Gasping, she rutted up to meet him. He wanted her to know he was as into this as she was, so he pushed harder, trying to get as deep as he could. She reached to grasp his thumb and brought it to her clit. Swiping back and forth across it, his gaze flitted between her face and her sex.

It took some practice to coordinate the thrusts of his hand with the stroking of her bundle of nerves. Once he got the hang of it, smoothly meeting the rise of her hips, he groaned and bent to press his lips to her vulva. Before he could taste her, though, she grasped his hair and lightly pulled until he crawled up her body.

Her movements sped up, and she took hold of his wrist. It was tricky to interpret - he wasn’t sure if she simply needed to hang onto something or wanted him to go faster. "God, Arthur, that feels good," she panted, her last word ending on a whine. Then she brought her hand to her breast and dragged her thumb across her nipple repeatedly.

Reassured he was doing what she desired, he huffed and got up on his forearm, pushing harder against her clitoris. He was trying to keep up with her, feeling her slick walls start to flutter around his fingers. When she came with a series of short, low moans, her muscles throbbing around him, he plunged into her and cupped her in his hand.

She grabbed at his shoulder and drew him flush against her, her back arching, her breasts pressed to his chest. Closing his eyes, he nuzzled her as she caught her breath. Eventually, she let go of him and stroked up his back, still trembling. He withdrew his hand, wiped it on her side, then cupped her face, his mouth lingering on hers. Smiling, he allowed himself to savor, for a few seconds, the bit of smugness he felt at apparently being pretty good at getting her off.

Gazing down at Sarah, he stroked the sheen of sweat above her eyebrow, then her cheekbone, before ending on her jaw. He’d been fond of other women before, of course. A classmate in high school, a pretty woman who took the same bus route, his kind neighbor, Sophie, down the hall. But the intensity of feeling he had for Sarah scared him sometimes. He hadn’t experienced anything like it. He reflected on whether that was due to the medications he had been on, his brain not working right, or simply lack of opportunity. Whatever had stopped it in the past, it was nice to feel it now.

She gave his side a soft squeeze. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He must have been staring at her longer than he thought. Brows knit, he smirked. “Do you know how noisy you are?”

“Oh my god,” she laughed, hiding her face in his neck.

“Don’t worry.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I like it.”

"Good,” she purred as he lay next to her on his side. “Now let's stay here for the rest of the week." Then she flipped over onto her stomach and closed her eyes.

He liked the sound of that. Being with her felt like a refuge. He hoped their relationship would always be like this, with them coming together heatedly when they had a rare disagreement. But then he wondered if their quarrels would always remain few in number. Especially after Murray. He pressed his lips together. "Can I ask you a question?" he said cautiously.

"Always. You don't need permission."

The small of her back was warm and smooth as Arthur stroked it. "Do you think you’ll stop loving me?"

She boosted herself up and gazed down at him. "Why are you asking me that?"

"You stopped loving your ex-husband."

Sighing, she rested her chin on her hands. He could see she was mulling it over in how she screwed up her mouth. "I was seventeen when I married him." She started picking at a loose thread on her pillow case. "It was a dumb thing to do. But it was the Bible Belt in the 1950s. I loved him the way a child does. Thinking everything would be happily ever after and all you needed was each other and nothing else."

Turning onto her side to face him, she brushed his hair back. He leaned into the touch. "This is different. I know life - I know _we_ \- will never be perfect. And that's all right." Then she smiled and caressed his cheekbone. "You're nothing like him, anyway. He's a good person. But he's serious and stuffy and not spontaneous. He never would have just asked me out for pie. Or called me at work and told me he wanted to bed me." She leaned down, her lips brushing his temple. "And if I had been as loud with him as I am with you, he probably would have told me I was violating a noise ordinance."

He chuckled, slightly comforted. But he rolled away from her, onto his back. "My material for Murray is...different from Pogo's."

"Isn't that good? Doesn't that demonstrate growth?"

Nodding, he went over the punchlines in his mind, the allusions to Arkham, what he thought about Gotham and how mean everyone was. And Thomas Wayne's cruelty. Jokes were the best way he knew to express his negative thoughts. He hoped she'd stick around afterward. "I wrote about what I know," he said quietly.

She kissed his cheek. "Then I'm looking forward to hearing it." He observed her as she climbed out of bed and got dressed, thinking she wouldn't be as excited about it if she knew what he was going to say. But he accepted her kind words none the less. "You're probably dying for a smoke," she said, "and I need a drink. I'll make some decaf and then I'll try to convince you to go along with my plan."

~~~~~

Arthur thought her plan was crazy: he was supposed to call Shirley Wood and add Sarah, using a fake name, as his backstage guest for the show. Once she was inside NCB Studios, she'd slip an envelope with information under the newsroom door, which she believed was on another floor of the building. (She thought it possible someone would care, especially with the mayoral election in the news.) Then she'd pop down to the studio, see him before he went on, and wait for him in the dressing room.

In spite of her best efforts to sell him on it, he was miffed. The Murray show was supposed to finally be his chance at a break. He wanted her to be there to see and support _him_ , not because she had work to do. And to be unable to mention that his girlfriend was there with him? He'd been waiting to let Gotham know that Arthur Fleck had finally found a hint of happiness, despite their mistreatment and best efforts to keep him miserable.

He tried to alleviate his increasing upset by distracting himself with his other concern: she could get caught. If something happened to her, he knew he'd snap. Even the idea made his blood boil. He watched Sarah as she sat on the coffee table in front of him, waiting for his response. "Aren't they going to know it was you?" he asked.

"No. I've included publicly available documents, a letter that was sent to the first tenant I met - whom I've already talked to and won't say anything about me - and an older motion that'd been available for public comment, because it's an eminent domain claim." He didn't understand the last part, but she seemed confident enough. "I've rewritten my notes, too, and typed them up on a typewriter at the library during my lunch. The copies I included were made there. They shouldn't be able to trace it back to me. Besides," she said, then took a long sip of coffee. "I'm trying to find a new job."

"But that's the reason you moved here." A sudden, sick feeling entered the pit of his stomach, and he grasped her free hand. "Are you leaving Gotham?" He didn't have any money to go with her. Shrinking back, he realized it was presumptuous to assume she wanted him to, anyway.

“No. Arthur...” She smiled and moved to sit next to him. "You know I love it here. I just can't work there anymore. Not with them turning a blind eye to this. And from my boss's reaction, that's the norm when it comes to the Wayne Foundation." Then she shrugged and cocked her head. "I already have my resume updated. With Shaw & Associates on it, I'll find something soon. Until then, I'll stay where I am."

He leaned onto his knees, digging his toes into the carpet. He still wasn't in love with the plan. Then she kissed his hairline and said, "You're allowed to say no."

Whether it was his job, caring for his mother, or simply trying to exist, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been given the explicit permission to decline something. It wasn't a respect he'd often been paid. And desperate financial circumstances had often prevented it. Thinking more about the plan, he huffed. What Sarah wanted would only take a minute or two of his time. She'd come to him afterward and give him her attention. Maybe it would work out. He released a deep breath. "Okay."

"Okay? Does that mean you'll help me?"

"Yes," he said as he sat up.

She threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you. I couldn't do this without you," she breathed, then kissed him firmly. That last sentence melted any residual resistance within him. He hugged her back, burying his face in her hair.

After holding her for a while, he rested back into the corner of her couch. "Did you say you got married in the fifties?"

A slight grimace came across her face, as if she knew what was coming. "Yeah."

Squinting, he tried to figure out how to be polite. He'd heard one wasn't supposed to ask a woman her age. But then again, she'd said he could ask anything. "How old are you?"

"I'll be forty in spring." When he didn't answer, she rolled her eyes and smirked. "I know. I feel like I'm robbing the cradle."

"You can steal me all you want," he replied, a small grin on his lips.

“I don’t know." Her eyes dropped to the carpeted floor. “You say that now. But when I’m a little old lady wobbling all over town with my walker, you might change your tune.”

Then she pressed a kiss to his cheek and got up. “This conversation reminds me..,” she said as she scurried to the bedroom. Arthur listened to her rummaging around, and when she returned, she held out a present to him, wrapped in blue paper with a white ribbon. “I missed your thirty-fifth birthday by a few days. I’m sorry.”

Arthur stared at it, then at her. “How did you-?”

“The file.”

“Hm.” It was odd to receive a birthday gift - he hadn’t gotten one since he was a child. He took it carefully, only after she insisted and shoved it at him a second time. Biting his lip, he gently opened the wrapping to find a leather journal. When he opened it, he found a note from her on the inside of the front cover: “I love your shtick. And you. - Sarah.”

Not wanting her to see him tear up, not wanting to seem like a freak because a normally common act affected him so deeply, he looked towards the kitchen and hummed to himself. But when she kissed his arm and rubbed the top of his thigh, he knew he hadn’t fooled her. He'd never be able to fool her. After a moment, he turned back to meet her gaze. “My tune isn't going to change.”


	22. Chapter 22

It was hard for Arthur to fathom that he was backstage at his idol's show. Being there in the dressing room, sitting in front of the vanity mirror with all its lights, was incredible. If he hadn't been able to feel the bristles of the brush when he put foundation on, the cool of the water as he drank it out of the fancy glass they'd provided, or perceive the way the warm smoke from his cigarette filled his lungs with every drag, he would have been sure this was all make-believe.

The nearby table had a set of bowls with various snacks. He wasn't hungry, but he tried them anyway, wanting to keep himself busy. The round, beige nuts, a variety had hadn't eaten before, had a buttery flavor he liked - he'd have to ask Sarah what kind they were when she got there. And there were individually wrapped pieces of chocolate with a gooey center - he stuck a few of those in his pocket for later. There was also a gelatin pyramid with fruit and marshmallows suspended in it; he stayed away from that completely.

Bouncing up and down on his feet, he hung onto the open front of his suit jacket, pulling at the soft, red fabric. He cocked his head and looked in the mirror. His hair was slicked back more neatly than at the open-mic night. The skin of his face was a bit smoother, the lines in it softened by make-up and the gentle lighting of the room. He'd done a good job with his appearance, he thought as he fixed the collar of his white shirt. Now he just had to get through his material.

He sat in the chair before the vanity and started paging through his notebook, chuckling to himself. It had been impossible to memorize everything he'd written the past few days, though he knew one or two jokes by heart. He sometimes had difficulty with retention, anyway. Reading his set would be sufficient if his delivery was correct. If he could get the words out, it would work.

There was a knock at the door, then it suddenly opened. More emotion than expected filled Arthur when he turned to see Murray Franklin, the man he'd fantasized of being loved and accepted by ever since he was a little boy. His chest tightened, and he didn't try to hide the watering of his eyes, rising from his chair excitedly and taking the man's hand. "I feel like I know you," Arthur said. "My mother and I have been watching you forever."

Murray simply smiled, nodded, and delivered instructions: nothing too edgy, no dirty jokes, and no cursing. Arthur would be right on after Dr. Sally. "Didn't you have a guest?"

"She's not here yet. But she will be," Arthur answered, nodding to convince himself Sarah would run into the room any minute.

"Good. Someone will come get you, okay? Good luck," Murray said.

"Thanks, Murray."

Once the the host left and the door closed behind him, Arthur eased into the make-up chair and let out a long breath. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. The airing of the show was going to start in ten minutes. _She'll be here. She wouldn't miss this. She wouldn't do that to you._ He turned to the news playing on television. All he could do was wait and hope she'd show up soon.

~~~~~

Getting into the building had been straightforward. The doorman had asked for Sarah's name, she'd said it was "Melissa Treble," and, after finding her on the guest list, he'd let her through the backstage entrance. He hadn't even asked for an ID. It left her wondering if they were always lax, or her still being dressed in her office clothes had helped. Despite the ease of entry, her heart was hammering in her chest. She held her handbag to her as if some invisible force might rip it away. Straightening the visitor badge clipped to her blouse, she tried to walk as nonchalantly as possible, searching for a map of the building.

When she found the elevators, she read the directory hanging between them carefully. NCB news studios were on the fourth floor, and the offices for it were on the fifth. She wasn't going to try to run into the studio while they were in the middle of a broadcast and get arrested for trespassing. That wouldn't do. She decided to look for the stairwell and walk to the offices' floor. The stairs would be less crowded, she assumed, making it unlikely she'd be seen.

As she climbed, her steps growing slower with every floor, she took off her heels. The concrete was cold on her nylon-stockinged toes. But the discomfort kept her focused on the task at hand instead of allowing her to fixate on being nervous. The anxiousness she felt wasn't only for herself, but also for Arthur. She knew what she was doing was a desperate, last ditch attempt at making a difference. That even if she succeeded in getting her information to someone, it didn't mean anything would be done with it.

But Arthur was putting himself out there, against her advice, on the show of the asshole who'd made fun of his disability. Though she hadn't seen him have an attack since last week, she hoped he wouldn't start laughing uncontrollably. And that his new stand-up wasn't only filled with cute jokes, which would invite unkind snickers. She simply wanted him to succeed. Perhaps that would help him shed the insecurity she knew he still carried, and he'd be free to display the grace she'd seen glimpses of when he dared to trust himself. Maybe he'd finally realize how terrific he was.

She rested against the railing when she reached the fifth floor, then opened the metal door leading out of the stairwell. Sticking her head into the hallway, she looked each way, relief filling her when she saw the emptiness of the perpendicular corridors. She snuck out and held her breath as she shut the door behind her. _So far so good_.

It was impossible for her to know which way to turn - it was a fifty/fifty chance either way - so she picked the way with the fewest illuminated office lights. Keeping her shoes in her hand, she walked quietly along the wall, reaching into her purse and grabbing the envelope with "NCB News" typed on the front. She needed to find a door labeled "reports" or "tips" or something, _anything_ that sounded vaguely like they'd look at her notes instead of throwing them away.

"What do you mean you didn't receive the finance report? I faxed it over this afternoon," a man's voice said, coming from one of the nearby offices. Sarah slunk back, creeping into the door of an open, presently unoccupied office behind her. The sound of papers being shuffled echoed against the linoleum floor. She closed her eyes, trying hear his movements over the pounding pulse in her ears. "Hold on, hold on. I'll bring it down to you," the man continued.

At the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, she moved to crouch behind a desk. She bit her knuckle to stop a chuckle at the ridiculousness of a grown woman playing hide-and-seek in an office building. The man walked by, grumbling to himself the whole time. When she heard the distant ding of the elevator, she tip-toed to the door and looked into the hallway.

Sarah considered the best option. The man's office door was open. He had mentioned reports. This was as good a chance as any. She darted across the corridor, dropped the envelope on his desk, and scurried back towards the exit. Heading back to the stairwell, she broke into silent sprint as she got closer. She tried to stop before slamming into the door. But her slippery nylons caused her to slide and bang into it as it opened. Ignoring the possibility that she'd just given herself away, she started booking it down to the second floor so she could see Arthur.

The show was already being aired as she walked to his dressing room, trying to catch her breath. Monitors in the hallway were playing Dr. Sally's latest advice and Franklin's stupid quip about how he would try her tips with his next wife. When she reached the door labeled "Arthur Fleck," she didn't knock before opening it.

"Sarah..." Arthur sprang up from his chair and went to her, taking her hand in his. "I was afraid you wouldn't make it."

Smiling, she leaned back against the door and exhaled sharply. "I'm sorry," she said, giggling, trying to expel the stress in her body. "There were a lot of stairs. But, thanks to you, I did it." She laughed lightly, and started rummaging in her purse. "It's out of my hands now. Here," she said, pulling out a black-eyed Susan. She stuck it in his jacket pocket and gave it a light pat. Then she took a few seconds to look him over, appreciating how his suit accentuated the lankiness of his physique. "You look great. Are you nervous?"

The corner of his mouth crooked uncertainly as he angled his head to look down at the flower. "A little. But you're here." He gave a small shrug. "Maybe everything will be okay."

She only had a few moments to tighten his red and gold tie before a producer came to get him. The peck she gave Arthur was quicker than she would have liked, but he was already half out the door. With a grasp of his hand, she was able to stop him for a split second. "Be yourself and don't let them mock you."

~~~~~

Arthur closed his eyes as he waited behind the curtain to go on stage, a hint of ire joining the strains of anxious excitement in his frame. They were playing that terrible Pogo's tape again, and Murray was telling Dr. Sally he thought Arthur had problems. He needed to focus in order to do the entrance he'd practiced.

He stretched an arm in front of him, then circled his closed fists, one over the other, until an open hand was held over his head as he breathed out. Then he extended his arms, one in front of him and one back, as far as he could, before bringing his hand back to smooth down his chest and stomach. Arthur could sense the producer next to him staring his way as he performed his strange ballet, then stepping back from him. But Arthur didn't care. The movements would soothe and, he hoped, center him enough so he could get out onto that stage and say what wanted.

As the multi-color curtain was opened for him, he was struck by how blinding and hot the stage lights were. And the spotlight was a hell of a lot brighter than the one at Pogo's. Still, he stepped out with polish, gave the audience a confident nod and wave, and went to Murray's desk. After firmly shaking Murray's hand, he approached Dr. Sally. Compelling himself to be brave, he took her offered hand, kissed her cheek sweetly, and whispered a soft, "Thanks." She looked a bit confused, but he thought he detected amusement, too. Then he wiped off the yellow chair next to Murray's desk and sat down, adjusting himself and crossing his legs, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

His breath caught as he looked up into the audience. This was it. This was _real_. This was the culmination of a dream. There were hundreds of people sitting there, cheering for and seeing him. And there were even more at home watching him on television. His lips parted as his gaze roved over the crowd. He'd barely heard Murray speaking when his question broke through the haze he was in, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Arthur said quietly, nodding. "This is _exactly_ how I imagined it."

"Well, that makes once of us," Murray quipped.

That and the audience's laughter brought Arthur back. He forced himself to smile and remember he wasn't there only as a guest. But also as a prop.

"So," Murray started. "I know you're a comedian. You live here in Gotham. Backstage you said you grew up watching this show with your mother?"

Turning to him, Arthur nodded, loosening his shoulders, trying to be self-assured. "That's right, Murray."

Murray gestured towards the camera almost directly in front of them. "Is she watching tonight? Do you want to say hi?"

Arthur knew greeting his mother would be the usual thing to do. But, apart from brief asides, he hadn't been able to think about Penny without angrily tearing up. He clenched his jaw and waved the suggestion away. "No."

After a pause, Murray continued. "Well, have you been working on any new material? You wanna tell us a joke?"

The throng in the studio roared, applause filling Arthur's ears. He didn't answer immediately, reveling in their attention. "Yeah?" he asked them, his beam becoming genuine. His throat clenched as he straightened his legs and put his hands on his knee. It was hard to believe, but they actually seemed to want to listen to him. "Okay." Flashing Murray a grin, he pulled his journal from the waistband of the back of his trousers.

Murray started in on Arthur as he soon as he began flipping through the pages. "He's got a book. A book of jokes." As Arthur searched, Murray continued to badger. "Take your time. We've got all night."

Arthur gave Murray side-eye and chuckled to himself as he found what he was looking for. "Okay, okay. Here's one." He swallowed, then took a deep breath. "Knock knock"

Murray pointed at the book. "And you had to look that up?"

At the sound of everyone laughing at him, Arthur’s face became serious. Murray was already making the effort to be mean to him. Arthur looked at Murray's co-host, seated next to Dr. Sally on the couch. His guffaws were the loudest. "I wanna get it right," Arthur said earnestly. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?" Murray answered exaggeratedly.

"It's the police, ma'am. Your son jumped off of Wayne Tower." Arthur started to snicker. "He's dead."

"Oh, no, no, no." Dr. Sally rounded on him as the audience groaned. "No. You cannot joke about that!"

Murray sounded annoyed. "Yeah, that's not funny, Arthur." He tapped his cue cards against his desk, addressing the crowd as he admonished him. "That's not the kind of humor we do on this show."

"Okay. I'm-" Nodding furiously, Arthur continued. "Yeah, I'm sorry. It's just, you know..." He tightened his mouth. "It's been a rough few days, Murray." Sniffling, he tried to smile though the pain welling in him. "My mother having a stroke, finding out I was abused as a kid, trying to meet my father."

Murray pressed his lips together before seemingly deciding to try to save the segment. "It sounds like you had a tough week." Arthur flinched when Murray nudge his arm with his elbow. "Come on, tell us another wisecrack. But a family one, this time." he said, pasting on a showbiz smile.

Arthur rolled his eyes and closed his book. "Why is everyone so upset about my joke?" he asked.

Murray began to scold him. "Because that's too serious to kid about. People who would try that are sick. We should-"

" _I've_ been that person," Arthur said, throwing his forearm down on his leg. "And if it was me dying on the sidewalk, you'd walk right over me." He drew his brows together, turning more fully in his seat. "You think it's funny to play my video, to invite me here to make fun of me, but I can't joke about what I know?"

There was disbelief in Murray's face, as if he couldn't believe Arthur was calling him on his bullshit. "That video got you here. On the biggest TV show in Gotham." The crowd cheered. They seemed to be taking Murray's side.

Fury grew in Arthur as they brushed off his words. "Comedy is subjective, Murray. Isn't that what they say?” Didn't the people of this city know the harm they'd caused him over the years? That tape had tormented him. And they didn’t even realize they were laughing because of his condition. “All of you," he said straight to the audience, "the system that knows so _much_ , decides what's right or wrong. The same way you decide what's funny," he pointed at himself, "or not." Giggling, he indicated Murray.

Murray was looking over Arthur's shoulder as he spoke. "Look, Arthur, if you're not careful, we're going to have to stop this interview."

Arthur felt like he was being ignored, again. They thought what he had to say wasn't worth the air it took to speak it. He tried to take a deep breath, reminding himself Sarah was watching backstage. That he could finally look forward to the weeks ahead because, at last, someone loved him.

But as much as her affection had improved his life, helped him get through every day, it wasn't enough to erase his hurt and anger. And now that he had this platform and was being seen, now that he'd opened his mouth, he couldn't stop talking. His volume rose as he continued. "Have you seen what it's like out there, Mur-ray? Do you ever actually leave the studio? I've been in enough observation rooms to make a few observations."

The wetness in his eyes distracted him for only a moment before he continued. "Nobody’s civil anymore!” he yelled. But then his voice got quiet, cracking on his next words. “Nobody thinks what it's like to be the other guy."

He thought of the possibility of being thrown out of his apartment, and Mr. Wayne socking him in the face when all he wanted to do was talk. "You think men like Thomas Wayne ever think what it's like to be someone like me? To be somebody but themselves? They don't. They just think we'll sit there and take it."

Murray scoffed at him. "There's so much self-pity, Arthur. I'll tell you-"

"And you're awful, Murray."

“Me? I’m awful?” Murray sounded incensed. “Oh, yeah? How am I awful?”

The skin of Arthur's chin trembled as he tried to hold himself together. "I never had a father growing up. I always wished he was you. I _loved_ you. But you're just like the rest of 'em."

Murray folded his arms and leaned on his desk, narrowing his eyes at him. “You don’t know the first thing about me, pal. I invited you on here and all you're doing is insulting me.”

Arthur swallowed and looked up at the ceiling, pressing his lips together. "How about another joke, Mur-ray?"

"I think we've heard enough of your jokes," Murray said sternly.

If he was about to get kicked off, Arthur wanted to end with a zinger. "What's the worst part of having a mental illness?" he started, feeling tears start despite his efforts to hold them back.

Murray nodded towards someone in the back. "Gene, cut to commerci-"

Arthur interrupted, his voice breaking. "People expect you to behave as if you don't."

It got quiet, then. Arthur decided no one knew how to respond to the reality in the joke he'd just told. As the silence from the audience, the other guests, and Murray lingered, he started chuckling. He placed his hand on the arm of the chair and squeezed, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his palm as his body shook and he bent forward with laughter.

After a minute, he heard the click of high-heels approaching. When Sarah knelt in front of him, he met her gaze and let out a breath of relief. "Sarah," he said, swiping at his nose. She'd put her hand on his knee. He reached to cover it with his fingers, holding tight. "You're still here," he whispered.

The corner of her mouth quirked up as she nodded, her eyes rimmed red. She squeezed gently as she addressed him with a shaky voice. "Let's go home."


	23. Chapter 23

Elation and adrenaline were coursing through Arthur's veins as he held onto the grab bar on the subway. Sarah had told him to go out there and be a comedian. To be himself and not let them mock him. And he'd thrown caution to the wind and done all of it. It was a struggle to stop laughing almost the entire way home - he didn't know if he had ever felt so euphoric.

But Sarah appeared pensive, standing next to him, quietly holding his hand, and barely looking his way in the moderately busy car. If he'd been able to concentrate on anything besides the energy crawling along his limbs, he would have asked if she was all right. Instead, he settled for putting an arm around her shoulders and planting a firm kiss on her lips. She tightened her grip on him, but ducked away from his mouth. He didn't release her, though, finally having the confidence to show everyone on that train, every person in Gotham, that she was his.

Once they were back at his place, he attempted to get her to join him in the shower. He pinned her to the kitchen counter, pressed her fingers to front of his trousers so she could feel his erection, and told her he'd been craving her since they'd left the studio. She held back. She'd make coffee, she said, and it'd be ready when he came out. At his pout, she'd nudged his side and told him to go clean up.

He leaned against the bathroom's tile wall after beating off under the hot water, closing his eyes as steam filled his lungs. Eventually, his muscles relaxed and he let his mind drift, thinking of how well he'd done on Murray, humming and chuckling to himself. He was startled when Sarah whipped open the curtain. The water had gone cold - he'd been in there a lot longer than he thought. She shut off the shower, pulled him out to stand next to the tub, and started drying his back. The towel was warm and soft, and after a minute she wrapped it around his waist. She stepped out after giving him his pajamas and thermal shirt.

A mug was waiting for him on the coffee table when he entered the living room. And Sarah was sitting on the sofa, still dressed in her office attire, with her legs crossed and arms hugging herself. He didn't like her neutral expression when he sat down next to her. But he decided to be his version of normal. To pretend nothing seemed amiss. The coffee was sweet when he tasted it and he grinned into the cup; she'd remembered how he liked it. Then he turned to her. "You've been quiet since we left."

"I'm just tired," she said. "I climbed five flights of stairs." Angling towards him, she asked, "Would you mind if I lay down?"

He would, a bit, but he was trying not to be selfish. After walking her to the bedroom, he watched her fold back the covers. "You're going to sleep in your clothes?"

"It won't be the first time." She climbed between the sheets without kissing him good night. "See you in the morning."

Arthur frowned but didn't press further. Instead, he closed the bedroom door, and sauntered to the dining table. He left the television on as he smoked and wrote in his journal, briefly paying attention when the news started. There was no mention of any of the information Sarah had said she was dropping off. Maybe it would take time before anything happened. After working on a few jokes, he managed to pass out on the sofa for a couple short hours.

The smell of cooking woke him. He rubbed his face before sitting up and straightening his hair, then reached for a cigarette. Peering through the window into the kitchen, he saw Sarah standing at the stove, and he could hear the sounds of a spatula scraping a pan and coffee being made. He lit up and smoked as he made his way to her, then kissed her forehead. "You're better at pancakes than eggs."

Her response was to stare at what she was cooking. Not at him. "Go sit. They're almost done."

She was acting oddly. But he did what she asked. He took out two coffee cups and put them on the breakfast bar, then sat on the other side in the living room to watch her. The tension in her shoulders was obvious as the minutes passed, and the movements of her frame were tight as she looked for a plate and silverware. He found that his own body mirrored hers the longer he watched. After she gave him breakfast, all he could think about is how he wished she would look at him.

After a couple quiet bites, she sat on the stool next to him and served coffee for them both. The shaky inhale she took before speaking put him on alert. "Arthur... I need a little time."

Hurt shot through his chest, straight to the top of his head and down to the tips of his toes. This was what he'd been preparing for since they'd started dating. Her negative reaction to finding out the truth about him. The moment he'd prayed would never come. "What for?"

As she spoke, he fought to force himself to listen. "I have to sort some stuff out."

His gaze darted to hers. "What does that mean?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I need time to think about last night." Her words were spoken between quiet sips.

The clench of his jaw was so hard it could have cracked his teeth. "You're breaking up with me," he said.

She grimaced and put down her cup. "No, I'm-"

His head shook as the cords of his neck tightened. "I only did what you told me to do. I wanted to be honest. I- I-" He dropped the fork and pushed the plate away from him. Maybe revealing what he had on Murray before talking to her had been a mistake. But he couldn't change it now. Unable to hold back, he burst out, "How else could I tell you I'm crazy?"

Panic began filling him, and he clenched his fists as his nostrils flared. "Shit. I did everything you wanted and you're fucking leaving!" She put her palm on his leg, but he twisted away from her, getting up and going to the bedroom. It was imperative he calm down before he started kicking the furniture. Putting his hands in his hair, he pulled, elbows out in front of him as he paced and wished his damned apartment had more space to get away from her.

Annoyingly, she followed until she stood behind him. "I'm not leaving you." He resisted when she tried to pull him to her, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much he needed to feel her against his skin. "You haven't done anything wrong."

He huffed at that, her explanations making it worse. "Then why are you punishing me?"

"I'm not," she said. "Please hear me." When her breath hit the crook of his neck, he shut his eyes. "It will only be for a few days. A week at most."

"A week?" He could barely stand being without her for a day. 

She continued. "I love you. And my phone's still connected. You can always call me if you're in any type of trouble."

When she laid her head on his upper back, he forced himself to swallow the tears that had settled in his throat. It didn't make any sense. If she loved him, why did she need to be apart from him? The press of her lips to his misshapen shoulder interrupted his thoughts and he flinched. He softened slightly as she traced the outline of his ribs. It was almost enough to let go.

But he wasn't ready to. Even as he fought to trust her, he hated this situation and didn't understand it. At the feel of her fingers slipping away from him, he grabbed her hand. He sought to memorize the softness of her skin, the warmth of it against his own, thinking he might never feel it again. She ran her thumb over his knuckles before giving them a soft kiss, then gently let go of him. "I'll see you soon."

~~~~~

Sarah didn't say more than a quick greeting to Matt and Patricia that morning. All she wanted was to work, be left alone, and start figuring out what the hell she was going to do with Arthur. He'd told her his material would be different, that he'd written about what he knew. She would never have guessed that had meant he'd been committed and was much more ill than she'd assumed. Or that he would have, what appeared to her, to be a televised breakdown. Though she knew she was being irrational, she felt guilty. He obviously hadn't felt safe enough to confide in her - it had been easier for him to talk to a stranger.

Scoffing, she realized she hadn't had the chance to tell him the good news: the psychiatrist she knew had agreed to see Arthur at a discounted rate. And she'd prepaid for several appointments, ones he could schedule when he felt ready. Pondering on it now, she wondered how she was going to let him know without him thinking she was asking him to change. Or that she believed something was wrong with him. Neither were true. She loved him for who he was, quirks and all. She simply wanted him to be healthy, to take proper care of himself, and accept the help she could provide.

At least Arthur hadn't been completely irrational. Despite the unstable delivery of what he had said on Murray, he hadn't been wrong. People _were_ lacking in empathy. Thomas Wayne _was_ an asshole. And the Wayne Foundation had turned out to be just as corrupt as any other questionable non-profit. On her way to the office, she'd listened to her pocket radio, hoping to hear news coverage about the organization's scheme to fuck over the poor. But there was nothing. Nada. Zilch. Maybe the information needed time to percolate with whoever read it.

After about two hours of typing up briefs, Patricia went to Matt's office. Sarah couldn't make out what they were saying, though the door was open. But she assumed it was about her. Matt stepped out, gave a stupid little wave, and said he'd be back later. Then she looked up to see Patricia standing next to her desk, arms folded over her chest, gazing at her with sympathy. Sarah swiveled in her chair and cleared her throat. "So, um... Seen anything interesting on TV lately?"

"How much of that did you know before Murray Franklin?"

Picking up a pen and tapping the tip of it against her desk, Sarah thought it over. "I was only sure he took medication and saw a therapist before the city slashed the budget." She didn't have to worry about keeping Arthur's secrets now, she supposed. "He wasn't doing well when his mother went into the hospital, and he found out what he did - about the abuse - but who would?"

Patricia's voice was gentle when she asked the next question. "Did you know he was in Arkham?"

"No," Sarah answered. "I didn't have him complete a medical history before we started sleeping together. He wasn't obligated to tell me."

"Sarah, he told everyone." Patricia moved to drag her chair over to Sarah's desk, then sat next to her and put her elbows on it. "You haven't known him that long. If you don't want to-"

Sarah pushed herself up and walked to the window. Looking out onto the street, she eyed her fellow Gothamites as they raced to and fro. The city, like her life, would be less colorful without Arthur in it. "Patricia, I love him. I know it's only been a short time... But that doesn't matter." She wiggled her toes as she continued. "I'm figuring out what to do. I haven't been scared in a long time."

"If you're scared of Arthur, leave him," Patricia said.

Turning, Sarah met her eyes. "Not of him. Of not...knowing. Of not being certain." Sighing, she bit her lip as she sat on the window sill and crossed her legs. It pissed her off that her eyes were watering. She looked up at the ceiling and counted the holes punctured in the tiles, trying and failing to distract herself. "I loved my father unconditionally. He encouraged me to be brash. He taught me to value my brain and not hide it to attract a man. I was the first woman in Boonville to go to college because of him."

Sarah had never told Patricia the details of being a caretaker, the toll it had taken on her, the way it had changed her into someone unrecognizable. All she'd wanted to do was leave that part of her life behind. But now it was bearing down on her. "Towards the end of caring for him, I did a terrible job," she laughed brokenly. "There were times I was...mean." She made her way back to her desk as she spoke. "When I'd try to shave him and he'd take a swing at me. Or I'd make him his favorite dish, and he'd tell me how much he hated it with every spoonful I fed him."

Gratefully, she took the tissue Patricia offered. "I told him he was a pain in the ass. That dealing with him was ruining my life. And worse." Sarah's gaze flicked to hers for only an instant, feeling too much shame to hold it for long. "He never remembered the words I said. But he must have felt them. I didn't know how to deal with my grief and frustration... I wanted it to be over." After sinking into her chair, she sucked in a deep breath. "I loved him so much. And I still managed to be terrible."

After wiping her eyes, she crumpled the kleenex in her hand. "Last night, after the show, I was surprised and shocked...and _so proud_ of Arthur. But I felt the same helplessness as back home." She was unable to stifle her soft sob. "I don't want Arthur to see that part of me. And I never want to be that person again."

"You won't be," Patricia said. She took Sarah's hand, and Sarah surprised herself by holding onto it. She wondered how Patricia could sound so confident. "You were alone, then. Now you've got me. And I know Matt can be an ass, but if you need time or anything else, he'll try to give it to you."

Even though Sarah appreciated Patricia's reassurances, she was still unsure of herself. "Sometimes Arthur looks at me like I'm his only chance at normalcy."

"He had a life before you. You said he's taken care of his mother. That he ran a household. He's obviously capable." Patricia scooted closer to her. "Do I understand falling in love with...an eccentric comedian in only a few weeks? No. I admit that." Sarah chuckled, knowing the words were said without judgment, despite her phrasing. "But you did. Don't let your fears ruin it."

Sarah nodded and pressed her lips together as she mused. All her life she'd had to be strong, whether in her career, getting divorced, or when care-taking. While she would always be assertive, it was tiring to have to pretend she was indestructible. Arthur brought out a side of herself that she'd forgotten existed. That soft part of her personality she kept under lock and key. She knew he liked it when she said things she couldn't have dreamed of ever telling anyone. And it wasn't just her supporting him. He'd been there for her, too, even helping her with her damned caper.

Smiling gently, she confirmed what she already knew in her heart. "He's worth it."

After leaving the office, she went to the Gotham Public Library and to find books for those in relationships with people with mental health disorders. It was hard to know what to get, considering she didn't know Arthur's diagnosis. And there weren't a lot of choices. The only ones that sparked her interest came from the "Loving Someone with..." series. Though their cheesy titles made her groan, the skinny volumes looked practical when flipping through them. She checked-out five and started in on them on the train back to Burnley.

When she got home and checked her machine, there was a message from Patricia wishing her a good weekend, but nothing from Arthur. The mix of emotions welling in her, both disappointment that he hadn't called and gratitude that he was respecting her space, made her feel childish. She sighed, retrieved leftovers from her fridge, then sat at her dining table. Chewing slowly, she tucked her foot under her thigh as she continued to read.

~~~~~

As the weekend went by without seeing her, Arthur started to assume he wasn't going to hear from Sarah again. Her absence gnawed at him, a dull ache in his abdomen. Every room in the apartment was filled with recollections of her. He wanted to build on them, replace the memories he had of living with Penny. Not knowing if he would be able to do that was difficult.

He stayed home most of the time, trying to keep himself together by filling his journal with the lies his mind told him, an attempt to excise them. ("She never loved me.") It was hard to know what to believe. ("Fuck Sarah. I woud never leev her. I wish we never met!") And everything felt like a contradiction. ("Its eazier to sleep sometimes when she's with me. I want her to come back soon becuze I'm tired.") There were moments he wanted to call her as she'd invited, but he held back, not wanting to upset her further. The irony of what could push her away being him reaching out instead of stubbornly refusing her help wasn't lost on him.

Monday morning, the hospital social worker left a message stating his application for financial help hadn't come back yet. However, with Penny being on disability and having no assets, it was pretty much guaranteed to be approved. There were empty beds in multiple facilities, and he could choose where to send her. That was a relief, but he decided not to call back yet. The woman hadn't said they were going to kick his mother to the curb. He had to put himself first for once - it could wait until he knew what the fuck was going on in his own life.

But he did dip into his savings to buy some boxes so he could start gathering her belongings. It would keep him busy. Going through her clothing was unexpectedly effecting. As he carefully packed her favorite pair of pajamas, a blouse he'd given her for her birthday years ago, and her worn socks, he bit his lip. The majority of him was glad to start the process of getting Penny out of his hair. Without Sarah there, though, it wasn't satisfying. He'd fantasized he'd be living with her, not alone. It was a daunting prospect. If he lost himself and started slamming his head into the mirror or otherwise cracking up, no one would be there to stop him. He tried to push that out of his mind.

Going through Penny's closet, he found an old lock box in the back corner on the top shelf. After standing on a kitchen chair to retrieve it, he sat on the bed and went through the scattered contents. There was a copy of her lease, an envelope with $500 in pre-1945 bills, and a photo of her when she was young and beautiful. He picked it up gingerly, then flipped it over to find, "Love your smile - T.W." on the back. It was impossible to tell who'd written it. It didn't matter now. Closing his eyes, he crumpled it and threw it in the nearby trashcan.

The next day, Arthur decided he'd had enough of waiting and headed to HaHa's. On the way, he was stopped by a couple people who'd seen him on Murray. One of them made fun of him, and he was proud of himself at having merely walked away with a quick "Fuck off," instead of throttling him like he wanted. The other person had been kinder and said Arthur had been right.

Standing outside the graffiti covered brick building of his old workplace, he stared at the gray, steel entrance. He knew coming here was a risk - he didn't want to see Randall or Hoyt - but he needed advice. Fidgeting with the smoke between his fingers, it took some time for him to open the door. He quietly went up the stairs, keeping his head down. Leaning against the wall of the short narrow hallway, he peeked into the locker room.

Fortune seemed to be on his side, for once. The only person there was the one he wanted to see. He stepped forward slowly. "Hi Gary."

Gary started, then turned to him. "Hey, Arthur... Did you get your job back?"

"No." He knit his brows together. "I needed to talk with you. About Sarah."

With a small smile, Gary leaned against his locker's open door. "Oh? How's that going?"

Arthur took a long drag off his cigarette. "She wanted dessert." As Gary chuckled, giving an I-told-you-so look, Arthur sat on the bench between them. "But I think I upset her," he said wearily. "I haven't heard from her. I don't know if I should just show up at her place or her job or-"

"I did that once," Gary gently interrupted. "It didn't go over well." Shrugging, he suggested, "Why don't you write her a letter or something?"

Arthur blinked, his cheeks heating. He concentrated on the floor, scuffing the toe of his shoe against it. "She went to college and I can't spell."

Gary waved the concern away. "Do it anyway. Women love that."

After a few moments, Arthur nodded. "Okay. Oh, here." He reached into his pocket and took out a wrapped up paper bag. "Can you give this to Randall?"

It took a minute, but Gary eventually accepted it. "What is it?"

Arthur cocked his head. "It's his gun. Tell him I don't need it anymore."

~~~~~

Arthur was sitting at his table in the corner of the living room, finishing a TV dinner and trying to work on his material. He'd been brainstorming all day, ever since he'd written his letter and dropped it off at Sarah's that morning. As he'd slid it under her door, using almost all his willpower to keep from knocking, he'd held his breath. There had been two letters, but he'd decided to give her the kinder, hopefully better spelled one. In spite of his best efforts, he thought it was too saccharine. ("Your my first girlfriend, so I'm sorry for screwing up.") But he'd written what he felt. ("I sometimes think I coud be happy when we're together. Gotham isn't as cold and dark with you in it.") And made sure to tell her he loved her. ("I didn't think I'd ever get to tell anyone that, so thanks.")

The buzzer interrupted him while he washed his fork. He'd imagined Sarah coming to his apartment multiple times over the past five days, sometimes slipping into delusion. He'd always hoped it was real, but whenever he'd checked the front door, there was never anyone there. Assuming it was another daydream, he kept cleaning. When the sound came again, he sighed and dried his hands. He knew he'd hear that damn noise all night if he didn't check. Tossing the towel on the counter, he went to the peephole.

Sarah stood in the hallway. She'd come back.

He tried to temper his excitement as he squeezed his eyes shut and fought back a laugh. Arthur knew she could be there for any reason. To officially end their relationship, to retrieve the Tupperware from two weeks ago that he'd neglected to return, to throw his letter back in his face. He had to be ready for anything. His damn leg started bouncing, and he held his thigh in an effort to quiet it. After smoothing back his hair, he forced his hand to the chain lock, softly slid it back, and slowly opened the door.

It took about five seconds for her to speak. "Hi."

His eyelids fluttered as he braced himself on the doorknob, heart beating so fast it felt like it had stopped. "Hey."

"I got your note," she said, holding it up like it was a prize she'd won.

Acknowledging it with a nod, he said, "Good."

They continued to stare at each other, long enough for him to start doubting their conversation was even happening. But then she grinned and jumped into his arms, nearly knocking him over with her enthusiasm. The door barely had time to shut before he lost himself in her.

Their reunion wasn't quite what he'd pictured, like something out of a forties film. Their touches weren't gentle. Romantic words weren't spoken. No orchestra music swelled. He fucked her on the kitchen linoleum with her skirt bunched up to her waist and his pajamas down around his knees.

After several peaceful minutes of laying on top of her, her ankles locked around him, Arthur felt Sarah's shoulders begin to tremble, her palm leave his back to wipe her face. Lifting his head from the crook of her neck, he found she was crying. He wasn't sure what to do. She hadn't done that any of the other times they'd slept together. Maybe she'd hit something on the way to the floor. "Um," he started. Leaning into her, he stroked her jaw. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?"

To his relief, a light laugh bubbled up from her throat. "No." She let out a long breath. "I'm..." When their eyes met, her wide smile prompted his own. She slid her hands into his hair, drawing his mouth to hers. "I'm just so happy."


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you for reading this story! (And especially to those of you who have taken the time to comment or leave kudos!) We've still got one chapter to go!
> 
> If you'd like to read more of these two (I do not want to stop writing them), I am now taking requests over on my Tumblr, [C.M. Scott](https://fleckcmscott.tumblr.com/), or here. Just drop me a line and I'll do my best!

About two months after Penny moved to Endsbury Place, a nursing home in mid-town Gotham, Arthur's bank account was nearly in the negative. With Penny's disability paying for her long-term care, and his only income coming from the occasional shift at Amusement Mile or random gig Gary forwarded his way, it became clear to him that he wasn't going to be able to afford his rent. The situation wasn't a surprise, but it frustrated him all the same. He'd done the best he could to stretch his dollar. Dates were at home unless Sarah insisted on treating, which he disliked. He was skipping meals, even though he denied it when she'd asked. 

And he'd only filled one of the three new prescriptions Dr. Ludlow, the psychiatrist Sarah had hooked him up with, had given him. They were prohibitively expensive - he'd been shocked when he was told the price for all of them. It was cheaper to keep up with his journal, work on his material, and try to use the new cognitive behavioral techniques he'd been learning at their sessions. He'd ended up picking the medication for insomnia, hoping his mind would be more coherent if he could at least get some rest.

Sarah thought the solution to all this was obvious. She'd been hinting that she wanted him to move in with her, but he had reservations. They saw each other nearly everyday and often spent the night together. Even so, it was hard for him to believe someone would want to be around him constantly. One night over takeout, sitting together on his living room floor, she tried her best to convince him. "You already have a toothbrush and deodorant at my place. I have tampons here. We might as well save on rent. And you'll stop getting those stupid letters from Renew Corp."

She was being kind, he thought, not bringing up how poor he was. But he wanted to live with her because he loved her, not because he was broke. It was with reluctance that he accepted a copy of her key. He frowned down at it for a little while before saying, half-to himself, "You already pay for too much. I don't want to be a burden." 

He quirked a dark eyebrow at Sarah when a greasy napkin hit his face, already knowing what was coming. "Stop it," she said, then leaned closer to him. "You're my partner, not a burden. Besides, you're in my bed half the time anyways." He blushed at that, but she didn't stop there. "Be glad love bit you when it did. And you didn't get hives." When she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, he shook his head. She always went for a sarcastic remark when she thought he was being too morose. Sometimes it annoyed him because it wasn't what he needed. More often than not, it brightened him enough to walk another step with her.

On moving day, while boxing up his belongings, he came to the realization that nearly everything in the apartment belonged to his mother. There wasn't a lot he could do with her stuff; there was limited space in her room, and he'd already sent over what he thought she needed. He decided to leave what he didn't want - the landlord, Renew Corp., the Waynes or whoever could deal with it. 

The unexpected pang in his chest while packing made him nervous. The change that was coming was a rare positive; it had to be. But he was still leaving home. When his anxiety started clouding his thinking, around noon, he tried to call Sarah at work but didn't reach her. He phoned her apartment, then. What he heard when the machine picked up caught his breath. "Hi, you've reached Arthur and Sarah. We're not able to come to the phone, but if you leave your name and number and a brief message, we'll get back to you as soon as we can. Thanks!" 

He hung up and called back to listen to the greeting again. Even after doing that, it took him a few seconds to speak, trying to keep his voice from trembling. "Uh... Hi. It's Arthur. You updated your message." He sniffled, then laughed lightly. "I'm almost done here. Come over whenever." He paused and braced himself against the kitchen entrance, resting his forehead on it as he sighed. "I love you. A lot"

Sarah came by with a dolly that evening, stating she'd borrowed it from the supply closet at her office. The four medium boxes, VCR, cookbooks, and LPs stacked on it easily, and it wouldn't take up much room on the train. He left a couple of paper bags and his prop bag for her to carry. After giving the apartment a quick once-over to ensure he hadn't forgotten anything, he placed his key on the counter. Then he opened the door and stepped out, rolling his belongings behind him. He stared at the doorknob and worried his bottom lip. Save for his stints in Arkham over the past ten years, he'd lived in 8J all his life. It would be strange to leave it forever.

Her light touch on his arm brought him out of his reverie. "You all right?" she asked, giving a comforting squeeze. "Are you ready?"

His reply came slowly. "Yeah?" Seeking reassurance, he looked at her. There was no doubt in her eyes, only affection and kindness. The same as when she'd saved his ass on the subway and his life had changed forever. Smoothing his palm over his hair, he nodded and shut the door. "Yes. I am."

~~~~~

Those early days after moving in felt as if Arthur was on his first vacation. He'd spent a lot of time in Sarah’s apartment, but he'd never stayed over more than one night in a row. The sensation faded quickly, though. Sarah kept correcting him whenever he referred to her building, her bedroom, or her refrigerator, insisting everything was theirs now. When they were in the kitchen together, she'd ask him to get needed items from the cabinets, in an attempt to get him used to treating the place as his own. And she made sure their possessions were intermingled, telling him she wanted him to feel at home. 

"I know," he said softly as they sat on the couch, having put away the last of his records. "It's just... I think it'll take awhile."

She pulled him to lay with his head on her lap. The gentle glide of her touch over his jaw, then the side of his neck relaxed him. "That's normal," she said, massaging his shoulder. At the use of that word, he closed his eyes and nuzzled at her thigh. "If you need anything, tell me."

He allowed himself to enjoy her for awhile before asking, "What do you get when you cross a mentally ill loner with a paralegal from Missouri?" 

"Uh, limited culpability?"

He chuckled and squeezed her knee. "A really abnormal couple."

She laughed, sliding her palm to his sternum. "I prefer to call us novel.” Whatever they were, he cherished it. He took her hand as she leaned to press her lips to his cheek, more at ease than he had in weeks. 

But living with Sarah wasn't the panacea he had naively imagined. He hated to admit it - he loved being with her - but Arthur found it difficult to build a life with someone who wasn't oblivious to him. When he had lived with Penny, he had developed his own rhythms, routines, and, he knew, odd habits. He often talked to and danced with himself. And he could smoke the entire time, wherever he wanted. With Sarah, some of that went out the window. Smoking on the fire escape had been expected, but it was forcing him to cut down, since he didn't want to stand outside the whole day. And the talking and the dancing didn't seem to bother her. In fact, she claimed to like it. 

Though, he thought, maybe she liked it a little too much. Some days after the move, when he was shaving after a shower, he put the radio on. He swiveled his hips with the music, holding his electric razor, singing along quietly. He didn't detect her sneaking in. When the towel disappeared from his waist, he grabbed the edge of the sink and froze. He opened his eyes to find her behind him in the mirror. “If you're going to dance like that," she said. "You better get in the habit of locking the door." 

But then she appeared to notice his discomfort. Holding the blue terrycloth back around him, she apologized for startling him. And berated herself for not knowing he wouldn’t react well. Once his nerves were quieted, he patted her hand. “I’m okay,” he rasped. But he could see the regret in her eyes when he turned to her. Putting his arm around her back, he willed his voice to be soft. “Knock next time you want to jump me.” The peck he planted on her cheek made her giggle and lean into him.

Another change was having to decide on meals together. Back on Anderson Avenue, he could eat when he preferred, if he preferred to. Sarah insisted on grocery lists, whereas he'd always bought whatever was on sale or in the clearance bin that week. And she often asked for them to cook together; he loved that and it made his heart swell each time. But she wanted them to try preparing dishes with ingredients such as bay leaves or cooking sherry, items he hadn’t heard of or stayed away from because he hadn't had the money to experiment or buy more than the basics. The prices made him cringe and wonder how few dollars he would have left after shopping. 

And it wasn't only food that prompted that reaction. He didn't know if he could ever get over worrying about money, even though she'd shown him her account and said they had enough. If he'd ever wanted to do anything special before, he'd had to plan days or weeks in advance in order to afford it. Habits borne of poverty died hard. And Sarah was getting mildly frustrated with him for second-guessing their finances whenever she suggested they do something special. 

One weekend early on, she told him they should go to the disco. She wasn't a big fan of them, she said, but she'd wanted to go with him after he'd bragged about his dancing skills on their first date. And, she reminded him, he'd admitted he used to fantasize about going to one. Before he could finish his question about the cost, she stopped him and told him it didn't matter. He tried to believe her. But when he heard the price of the cover charges, he gently asked if they could go. 

It was apparent from the redness of her cheeks and serious face that she was irritated. Grasping his wrist, she led him under the velvet rope, to a secluded area about twenty feet from the entrance. "Arthur." She took a deep breath. "I need you to believe I can calculate the price of covers, drinks, and food." He looked at the ground, unmoving. When her hand cupped his cheek, his eyes fluttered shut. "I know you're used to constant struggle," she continued in a softer tone. "But you don't have to be now."

"I'm- I'm sorry," he said meekly, shaking his head.

"Don't be sorry." She smiled and kissed him, bumping her nose to his. "Just have a good time."

The evening had been interesting. The style of dancing hadn't been what he was used to, given that it was modern music and not the older tunes he favored. It was loud, too - he didn't want to have to raise his voice for her to hear him. They spent most of the time at their table, sipping on cocktails. When slower songs played, however, he was always able to entice her into a slow dance, even though she stepped on his feet. While they walked to the nearest subway station, she asked him how he'd liked it. "I wouldn't go back," he answered, then turned and gazed down at her. "But you made it nice."

Most of their concerns were easily resolved with a little time, a conversation or two, and compromise from both sides. Unexpectedly, that pattern continued when Sarah asked, a couple months later, if he would mind her dropping the occasional letter to Penny. She made it clear she wasn't expecting him to keep in contact. But she wanted Penny to know how well he was doing, that they were living together now, and how overjoyed she was to be with him. 

He didn't respond at first. But some minutes later he said, "I gave the nursing home the new address." After finishing washing dishes and drying off, he spoke lowly. "She didn't give a damn before. She's not going to care now." Then he locked himself in their bedroom with his journal, brooding over what to do. And he continued to mull it over that night, listening to Sarah's slow breathing while sleep eluded him. 

As they drank coffee in silence the next morning, her question still hung between them. She was watching his every move, and he knew she'd soon prod him for an answer. "Fine. Let her know I'm fucking up less," he said, exhaling sharply as he picked up his cigarettes and headed outside. "And found someone who thinks I’m funny."

Even with her reassurances, what was harder on him was his inability to find steady work. He'd been the breadwinner in his household since he was a teenager. It had been difficult, but he'd been proud of the job he'd done. It pained him not to be able to provide for Sarah in the way he believed he should. She always told him that doing whatever he could, pursuing his stand-up, and helping her take care of the apartment was enough. That him being there was what she needed, and she was happy to have such a wonderful partner. Still, whenever he had an income, he'd give her something towards rent, the electric, or whatever. But she'd always try to give it back. Occasionally, he secretly paid a bill out of his checking account. 

Gradually, as their lives blended together, he gave her more details about what he’d referred to on Murray. That he’d been in Arkham a number of times, because he’d been deemed a danger to himself. And he'd only been out about eight months when they'd started dating. That the treatment he’d been getting through the Department of Health had been court mandated. That he sometimes still struggled with hallucinations and disassociating. And that his main motivation for going to his current appointments and trying different medication was wanting a decent future with her, not necessarily being healthy. 

He was smoking on the fire escape, sitting on a metal step, when he told her. "You think I should be reason enough." He scoffed, then flicked ash off his cigarette. "I've hated myself all my life, Sarah." Pressing his lips together, he looked out at the lights of the Gotham skyline and shook his head. "When I’m with you, it’s not so bad."

It took her awhile to react. But she eventually sat next to him. "There's so much love in you. I hope someday you can spare some of it for yourself." Then she hugged him, so tightly he could barely breathe. “You’re never getting rid of me, Mr. Fleck." At that, he leaned his head against the top of hers and closed his eyes, hoping to gain her confidence and belief in him by osmosis.

~~~~~

When Arthur did get gigs for stand-up, they were mostly non-paying, open-mic nights he'd signed up for. Once in awhile he'd get a spot in which he could get a small percentage of the night's cover charges. Sarah hated those, stating he was being treated as a novelty act. He was aware but he didn't care. He merely wanted to be seen and tell his jokes. If luck struck and he got a break, that'd be great. He worked on his comedy diligently, with the goal to write at least one new joke every day. His delivery slowly became easier. And though his laugh attacks never went away completely, they became less frequent with the more stage experience he got. 

And Sarah was always there in the audience, supporting him even though comedy wasn't her thing. Afterward, she'd go over the show and give him pointers on what she thought might improve his material. He almost never took her advice. But he always listened; her speaking thoughtfully about it made him feel valued, like he mattered. Sometimes it pleased him so much, he’d interrupt to give her a quick kiss and hug her. She’d pat his back when that happened and say, “I’m going to have to be more critical if this is the reward I get.”

To Arthur's chagrin, one night Sarah told him she wouldn't be able to see him perform. Her excuse had been flimsy, but he’d accepted it. He'd gotten through everything all right, but he'd missed knowing her eyes were on him while he was in the spotlight. 

When he got home, around ten, Sarah was sitting at the kitchen table, wearing only a robe and engrossed in a newspaper. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched her, wondering what had actually prevented her from coming to the show, until she turned around. 

To his confusion, she sprung from her chair, saying, "Close your eyes. I have a surprise for you."

Smirking slightly, he did as she asked. She grabbed his hand and guided him along. He did his best to follow her, but bumped into the coffee table with his shin. Laughing, she slowed their pace, and they stopped a couple steps later. "Okay, you can open them."

Doing so, he saw they'd moved to the back corner of the living room. A well-worn writing desk was in front of him, against the wall, a small lamp on the corner. To the right of the desk, a folding room divider was extended, creating a private space. It took him aback. "What's this for?"

She nudged him in the side with her elbow. "It's for you, silly."

Bewildered, he looked down at her. She was already too generous with him, always giving him a new notebook, sweater she thought he’d like, or other small item when he could barely buy her a bouquet. "Why?"

Sitting on the desk and drawing him to her with her foot, she smiled. "Do you know what today is?"

The correct answer eluded him, despite the effort he put into finding it. Lifting his eyebrows, his tone apologetic, he said, "Thursday?"

Sarah gave him a soft kiss and squeezed his sides. "Six months ago we went out for pie." Her fingers started working the buttons of his vest. "This is why I couldn't come to your show."

Arthur winced. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I wouldn’t have signed-up for tonight if-" Then he cocked his head, his voice low. "I thought anniversaries were yearly."

"They are. But I needed an excuse," she said. "I've seen you close your journal when I've walked in the room. It's been hard for you, not having any privacy." As she spoke, she untucked his shirt. "Now you have your own writing nook. And the desk drawers lock." Her fingers traveling along the v-line of his abdomen made concentrating on her words difficult. "You can hide your journals, or a ring-" his eyes momentarily widened at that, cheeks burning, "- or anything else."

Leaning into her, a lump formed in his throat. He ran a palm along the edge of the desk before taking a deep breath. "Thank you," he whispered, pulling her robe open, then settling his hands on her bare hips.

“But there’s one thing you need to do first,” she said as she slipped his pants and briefs down his thighs. 

His gaze dropped to watch as she pressed him to her entrance. Groaning, he pushed against her. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he chuckled before devouring her mouth.

After she left for work the next day, he went to a pawn shop he’d dealt with before in Otisburg and put a small, simple ring on layaway, making three payments upfront. The receipts were hidden in his journal, between two pages he’d obsessively filled with the words “Sarah Fleck” before he’d moved in with her.

The private area she’d put together was the space he hadn’t realized he needed. He’d gotten in the habit of locking himself in the bathroom or bedroom to have privacy to write. But now, without the underlying fear that she’d see some of the darker notions he put down, he journaled more. Sometimes for a couple hours. Sarah left him alone when he did that, apart from the occasional peppering of kisses along his shoulders or ruffling of his hair when she’d bring him something to drink. (Which, he figured out, was her way of checking on him.)

When the negative thoughts became too heavy, or if he was disassociating and wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was real, he’d go there and sit. The feel of the wood beneath his hands, the heat of the lampshade, the framed photograph of the two of them together he kept on the right corner, grounded him and let him know he really was in a safe place. And that he was loved.

Most days, he knew where he was and who he was. And, for the first time he could remember, there were periods in which he felt content. Over the years, he’d dreamed of many things he’d assumed would fill the hole inside him. Meeting his father, being a famous stand-up, having a friend. While he still had those desires, he never would have thought settling down with a woman he didn’t have a lot in common with would be so fulfilling.

Tonight, while they were watching the news on the couch, he couldn’t stop looking at her. It had been five months since she’d dropped off her envelope at NCB studios. And he knew she pined for a report on it everyday, even after all this time. She always looked disappointed when nothing was mentioned. Instead, there was a story about the mayoral election. Thomas Wayne was leading in the polls. 

Sarah groaned. “If that asshole wins...”

Arthur grabbed the remote and flicked off the television, then went to the record player and put on an LP. It was one of the “mood music” records he loved but she found corny. He knew it would cheer her up, though. He’d learned how to do that; she was a much easier case than he was. He held out a hand to her.

Gazing up at him, a sly smile came across her face as she took it. “What?”

“Come on,” he said, pulling at her gently. “Dance with me.”

She stood and winced. “I’ll never be good at this. You’re lucky you still have your toes.”

The arm that went around her waist held her tightly. “You’ve taught me a lot,” he said softly, a grin on his face as he dared to pat her bottom, prompting a chuckle from her. “It’s my turn to teach you.”

After a few moments, she put her head on his shoulder. Arthur stroked Sarah’s hair as he closed his eyes. Breathing in her scent, feeling the warmth of her body against him as they gently swayed, he became acutely aware that a positive vision he’d had for himself had actually happened. A soft hiccup escaped him.

“Are you all right?” she asked against his neck.

Nodding quickly, he swallowed, continuing to lead. “Yeah,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I feel good.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! My heart is so full. Thank you to everyone who enjoyed this story. I’m happy I got to share it with you. If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment or feel free to message me. And don’t forget, I want to keep writing these two, so send me your requests over on my Tumblr, [C.M. Scott](https://fleckcmscott.tumblr.com/), or here. Just drop me a line and I'll do my best. I hope to hear from you!

The only news item resulting from the information Sarah had smuggled into NCB Studios was a pundit's commentary on Good Morning Gotham. The blowhard hadn't said anything specific - the Wayne Foundation and Renew Corp. weren't mentioned. Instead, he'd used it as an excuse to complain about eminent domain existing, calling it government overreach. The lack of news coverage and the misuse of her work angered her. And as the weeks went by and radio silence continued, she became disheartened. Every conversation she had with Ms. McPhee hurt, despite them no longer discussing the case and having moved beyond client-and-paralegal to become good acquaintances.

Arthur was still learning to read Sarah. Even on the sporadic days when he was off or didn't sufficiently take care of himself, he made it clear he wanted to be and was practicing being a good boyfriend. Whether she needed him to joke around, put his arm around her waist, or simply listen, he was there. In his kitchen one weekend, as she helped him empty his refrigerator, the news was on the radio. She stopped her movements at the mention of the Wayne Foundation. But the story turned out to be a puff piece about the "great work" going on, without specifics on any of it. Groaning, she threw the baking soda towards the nearby trashcan with more force than needed, and it spilled all over the floor. 

As she bent to clean it up, dustpan in hand, Arthur turned the radio back to his usual oldies station. Then he went to her, crouched down, and pulled her in for a hug. His words were generic, ones she assumed he'd learned from film or television. But she knew he meant them, and they soothed her all the same. "I'm here," he said as he rubbed up and down her back. "It's okay. You tried."

She wiped her nose on the shoulder of his shirt and laughed brokenly. "I'm glad you're moving in this week." His hold on her tightened. "Maybe you can get me to stop torturing myself over this shit."

There was slight hesitation in his frame before he began nuzzling at and kissing her cheek. "I know a few ways to distract you," he murmured.

Snorting, she pushed him away. "If you don't behave, we're not going to get done." When he stood and walked back to the fridge, she noticed his posture was a bit sullen. "Hey," she said. He turned around instantly, and warmth bloomed in her chest. "I love you."

A shy smile broke out across his cheeks, his dimples plain to see. He gave her a nod and started humming along to the radio. She continued watching him between sweeps of the hand broom, grinning to herself and thanking whoever might be listening for Arthur having entered her life.

On the evening he officially arrived, Sarah was a little stunned at the normal, everyday things that affected him. There was the soft expression on his face when he saw she'd cleaned out half her closet and two drawers of her dresser for him. Or the clearing of his throat as she arranged the bathroom so that his cologne, shaver, and medication were on the same shelving as her toiletries. And the way his eyes lit up when she told him he didn't have to worry about her razors, because she was getting the hang of the electric one she'd bought.

While they tried to go to sleep between the brand new sheets she'd asked him to pick out and under his old, green blanket, it was clear Arthur wasn't able to relax. His fidgeting and changing of positions wouldn't stop. He'd seemed more at ease when they'd been together after his stand-up at Pogo's three months ago. Eventually, Sarah twisted to face him and put her head on his shoulder. "How are we doing?"

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to keep you up." Scoffing, he sniffled quietly. "I'm not used to this." When she asked him to clarify, he paused, stating he wanted to say it right. No matter the words, though, she would have understood: he'd sacrificed to provide for his mother since he was a kid. From his point of view, it wasn't normal for Arthur Fleck to be taken into account, and here she was, giving up her space and more for him. "It feels strange." Sighing, he put his arm over his eyes. "I dunno. I'm just glad you're letting me stay."

Shaking her head, she sat up and looked down at him. "I'm not letting you stay," she said firmly. "We made this decision together. This is as much your place as it is mine." She brought her torso over his and took his forearm away from his face. "And I'm not giving anything up. I'm gaining you."

He was quiet after that, but she could see the corners of his mouth lift in the seconds that followed. It wasn't long before he pulled her to lay down again and spooned her. He seemed to be more comfortable, but her heart was heavy. The conversation was a stark reminder of the neglect he'd appeared to have experienced throughout his life. And it made her more determined to improve on it.

~~~~~

Sarah could tell it was hard for him to adjust to living together. It was understandable. Even though her marriage had failed, she'd done it before, whereas Arthur had been in a purgatory between head of the household and arrested development. There were days when she thought she was getting on his nerves, especially when he'd lock himself in their bedroom with his journal and a pen. At first it stung when he would do that. She wanted him to trust her and come to her if he needed. But after he explained his background of being committed, elaborated on his mental illnesses, she got it. He promised to tell her if he felt he was losing himself, and she agreed to do the same if she grew concerned. And while she missed him when he was in his own head, she knew the two or three hours he sometimes spent in his writing area were well spent.

When he started working again, though it was only a few times a month, he seemed to do better. (If Sarah ever found out who this "Gary" was who was occasionally helping Arthur, she'd kiss him.) As spring turned to summer, Arthur told her he wanted to start street performing again. There was a good spot near Amusement Mile's main entrance, he claimed, with a lot of kids and families. He'd done it when he'd been starting out, and had been able to get a good amount of tips when the weather was nice. No, he admitted, it wasn't his favorite thing to do, and he wouldn't do it everyday, but he wanted to provide for her. And, “I don't mean to be rude, but,” hanging out in the apartment most of the day was boring.

Part of her worried about him. She was aware of his history of being harassed by people - the memory of the assholes on the subway was still fresh in her mind. But she knew it was hard to live without purpose. And in spite of all that had happened, he still thought his was to bring joy and laughter to people. If he had the confidence and drive to it, she wouldn't stand in his way. It was his choice. The relief in his eyes when she told him that was palpable.

As for her, it took more interviews than she expected to find another paralegal job, even with Shaw & Associates on her resume and Patricia as a reference. When she landed a new position, it was at Dube & Ellis, a firm specializing in labor cases. The interviewers had asked why she wanted to leave such a prestigious law office. She'd tried to be diplomatic: "I want to work for a place that focuses on helping those who need it, not protecting those that already have too much power." They'd been amused at her candor and offered her the job immediately.

On her first day, Arthur insisted on packing a lunch for her. He looked proud of himself when he handed her the oddly heavy paper bag on the way out. At around noon, she found out why. He'd made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, packed a small salad, and stuck an entire bottle of dressing in the bag, along with a poorly spelled note: "I kno your going to do great. Call me and tell me how it's going. (Sorry about the dresing. We need smaller tuperware.)" She tucked that message in her drawer for safekeeping.

When she got home, she gave Arthur her new card, and watched as he copied the number in a notepad next to the phone, then stuck it in his wallet. She thought back to one of their first walks, when he'd been in costume save for his wig, making an unexpectedly beautiful clown. "I'm glad I threw caution to the wind and gave you my business card."

"So am I," he said as he put his wallet down. "I- I wasn't sure you were really there until you did. I still have it." She inched closer to him as he continued to speak. "The doctor said I should hold something when I'm having..." His voice dropped. "It helps on bad days."

She grabbed his hand and brought it to her chest. "I hope those are fewer now."

His gaze fell to the floor, his smile soft. "Yeah."

Admiring his handsome face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the laugh lines she liked to trace with her fingertips, she felt herself falling in love with him all over again. And the longer she stood with him, his warmth seeping into her skin, the more turned-on she was getting. She swallowed, then said huskily, "Arthur, if you're not inside me within the next three minutes, I'm going to lose my mind."

He tried to hold back his snort and lifted her onto the counter, stepping between her legs. "You're shameless," he said as he reached under her skirt to push her panties aside.

"Don't pretend you don't love it," she said against his mouth, reaching into his pants and taking him into her hand.

Months later, Sarah still hadn’t gotten over waking up to Arthur. He usually rose long before she did and had coffee ready when she sleepily padded into the kitchen. But she cherished those rare mornings in which she woke up first and was able to make breakfast for him, or watch him for a bit while he slept. Or, if she was feeling wicked (as she often did), running her nails over the lean muscles of his thighs until he groaned awake and either batted her away or, more likely, pulled her on top of him.

Having him in such close proximity was doing wonders at destroying her self-control. It had been a few years since she'd been with anyone, and he was an eager late-bloomer. The number of times she'd given into the press of his erection against her, or she'd pounced on him herself, delighted her. Growing up, she'd heard a lot of things about how women were supposed to act: they weren't supposed be oversexed, it was a chore, and after a woman turned thirty-five, her eggs died and any desire would go out the window. Sarah was glad all that appeared to be bullshit.

And she was grateful Arthur initiated intimacy more as their lives together deepened, as he seemed to grow more content with himself. One night they were on the living room floor, the comforter stretched over them, when he chuckled. "You know, of the few things I thought I'd be okay at, this wasn't one of them." 

That made her smile. He so rarely complimented himself. It was good to hear. And he was right. While he wasn’t a casanova or especially gifted, he cared enough to learn, listen, and communicate. She nipped his earlobe. "Gotham has no idea what it’s been missing." Then her tone became deliberate. "But you can make it about yourself, too. I'd enjoy that." A slight frown crossed his face as he drew his brows together. "Hey, I'm not complaining," she said. "I'm here for you, though. If you need to fuck a bad mood away, it's fine. If I don't want to, I'll tell you."

"You never don't want to," he teased, rolling his eyes. Pressing his lips together, he leaned back into the couch cushion he was using as a pillow. "But I'll keep it in mind."

~~~~~

If Sarah had been told a year ago that she was going to enter into a serious relationship with a shy stand-up and party clown she met in the frozen food aisle, she would have called that person crazy. But, she'd decided, life was funny. And there wasn't a minute she regretted inviting Arthur into her world and starting the process of building a future with him.

Even as Sarah lamented that Arthur's past had been one of isolation, she felt lucky to be the person to introduce him to all the mundane activities he'd missed, ones she had taken for granted throughout her life. When she saw wonder and joy on his face, it was like she was experiencing everything for the first time, too. And, frankly, it made her feel youthful again.

They'd gone to the movies to watch a Fred Astaire film he'd picked out. He'd almost treated it like a first date, and the smile on his face had been so wide as he sat there, holding her hand, totally engrossed in the film. And there was the night at another theater, when the auditorium had been almost completely empty, and they'd spent a good portion of the feature's runtime fumbling and giggling in the back like a couple of teenagers.

What he seemed to enjoy most was being able to bring her to Pogo's. Not only when he was at open-mic night, but also when he was studying other comics and taking notes. He'd always been surrounded by other couples, he'd told her, and he'd had difficulty understanding all the jokes about sex and dating. Thanks to her, he said, he thought he was grasping them a little better. His odd laughs at inappropriate times proved to Sarah he still struggled, though. But that awkwardness didn't matter - he was just being himself. And when he would glance at her during the course of those evenings, sometimes squeezing her elbow, she could tell he no longer felt alone in a sea of people.

One of her most valued memories was convincing him they needed to have some snapshots of them together. Arthur wasn't used to having his photo taken, and while he liked attention, the idea of having his image up around the apartment made him feel uncomfortable. "I know what I look like," he'd said. But when Sarah had told him she wanted a picture for her desk to show off at work, he'd obliged almost instantly. Her favorite photo, the one they'd written on the back of and sat framed on both their desks, had been taken at night in Gotham Square. Arthur was in his tan jacket, holding a fresh, hot pretzel just out of her reach as she tried to grab it. The playful way they were looking at each other, and his arm around her shoulders, made her heart warm whenever she saw it.

She was actually smiling at it when Arthur unexpectedly called her office, and asked if she could get out a couple hours early. Everything was all right, he assured her, but he did need to discuss something. He was being uncharacteristically cryptic. She quickly got permission to head out, so long as she made up the time later that week, and told Arthur to meet her in the lobby at two. "Good," he said, then hung up immediately. Staring at the receiver, she wondered what was up before shrugging it off and continuing with her day.

As soon as she saw him, she grew concerned. He seemed pensive, almost solemn, pacing in front of the exit, his fingers loosely covering his mouth. But he was well-dressed, wearing a fitting, dark blue cardigan over a white dress shirt, along with ironed gray-blue trousers. He'd swept his hair back, too, but he'd only been partially successful, his loose curls still a tad unruly on his neck and by his ears. Approaching him, she could smell his cologne, different from his usual brand. She looped her arm through his as they left, and he brightened slightly, telling her he wanted to go to Lemmars Park. It was puzzling, but sweet, that he'd asked her to leave work for a walk. She readily agreed and let him lead the way.

Usually when they were out together, both of them made conversation. Now he was quiet. "How was your day?" she asked, then tried to wipe a hint of leftover white greasepaint from his jaw. "Was work busy?"

"Amusement Mile's always busy." Chuckling, Arthur said, "One kid got too excited and dropped her ice cream. I gave her my flowers." He shot her a smile. "And I made $17 in tips." 

She rested her head on his shoulder for the remainder of their stroll, enjoying his presence. Once they got to their destination, though, he appeared to want to jump out of his skin. And he was lighting up one cigarette after another. When his hold on her tightened, she said, "I can feel you worrying."

"I'm fine." Taking a long drag off his smoke, he gestured towards an empty park bench and brought her to it, then perched on its edge.

Looking out over the changing leaves, she sighed contentedly and sat next to him. She liked Gotham's skyline in the fall, when its art-deco skyscrapers stretched against the bright colors of the sunset. The city was a mess and always would be, especially if Thomas Wayne ended up winning the election. But she saw beauty in it and cherished it all the same. Especially now, with the love of her life next to her.

She adjusted her legs and angled herself to study him. A long ash hung from his cigarette and threatened to fall onto his pants. And he was holding his thigh in an obvious attempt to stop his leg from bouncing. Apart from rough mental health days, he hadn't been this anxious around her in months. She nudged him gently with her elbow, then put her hand on his forearm.

Arthur turned towards her but didn't look up. "Sarah..." Swallowing hard, he flicked his cigarette away and smoothed his hair back. He reached into his jacket and took out his notebook, then flipped through a few pages before speaking again. "I- I always wanted someone. Just to watch Murray together. Or tell jokes to. To really see and hear me." His hands were trembling as he took a deep breath through his nose, his nervous gaze flicking to hers for just a moment before he continued. "Before I met you, I thought I'd never..."

Pausing, he closed his journal and shut his eyes. "I'm not good with words." His palm went to his chest, the effort he was making visible in the tension the lines of his face held. "When I'm with you, it's easier for me. I know I'm hard to live with." When she opened her mouth to contradict him, because he was clearly wrong, he stopped her with a raised hand. "You're uncomfortable when I shut myself off from you. I don't want to. But sometimes my thoughts..." Then he scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I'm fucking this up. This is supposed to be romantic."

"No," Sarah said, already pretty sure she knew where this was headed. She willed herself to hold back her growing excitement, not wanting to throw him off. "You're doing fine."

Nodding, he exhaled sharply, then looked her straight in the face. "Knock knock."

Smiling, she replied, "Who's there?"

"Mary."

She cleared her throat. "Mary who?"

"Marry me," he rushed out, grasping her hands. His face softened and he shrugged slightly. "Please?

Though his question wasn't a complete surprise, Sarah thought her heart was going to burst out of her chest. "I was wondering when you going to make an honest woman out of me," she said, sniffling. She put a leg over his and leaned into him. "Nothing would make me happier than marrying you."

Nearly pulling her into his lap, his arms went around her, lips fervent on hers, his frame softening into her embrace. But he broke the connection too quickly, prompting a soft whine from her. "Hold on," he said, reaching into the pocket of his tan jacket, then placing a ring in her palm.

She slipped the thin, gold band on her finger. It was one or two sizes too big, but she'd get it resized without telling him. And although it was old and plain, she loved it all the same. Checking her watch, she stood and brought him up with her. "Come on. City Hall's still open for a couple hours." Starting towards the park entrance, she adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder.

"What, you want to get married _now?_ " Arthur huffed behind her as she hurried along. "Don't you want a wedding?"

"Who are we going to invite?" she called as she went up the sidewalk. "My sister will never make it up here. Patricia and Matt? Gary? We can have them over for dinner." Gaining speed, she clumsily ran in her high-heels. Arthur grabbed her hand and stopped, gently putting the brakes on her. She turned around. "What?"

He was pouting and giving her that wide-eyed look she was powerless against. "I want a wedding. Even if it's just us."

Stepping to him, Sarah put her arms around his neck. "We'll have one. But if I marry you tonight, I can put you on my insurance plan tomorrow." He furrowed his brow, his expression completely unimpressed. She knew the romantic in him didn't want to hear about that. Not now. So she kissed the tip of his nose and said, grinning, "And I need to be Mrs. Fleck when we're busy in bed tonight." Then she took off up the street again.

She heard Arthur’s footsteps as he quickly caught up to her. When he grasped her hand, she glanced at him and started sprinting. He didn’t lag behind for a second, running by her side and laughing joyously.


End file.
